


Marked

by Anonymous



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 16:49:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 53,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1557332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ongoing fill for this:<br/>Arthur/Merlin</p>
<p>AU where soulmates share a birthmark and these marks are intensely private. Arthur is an infamous movie star and the paparazzi get photos of him where a deranged fan pulled his shirt down and revealed his mark below his collarbone, and they are leaked onto the internet via nefarious means. Merlin gets on the internet and is greeted with shady pap photos of, apparently, his soulmate. </p>
<p>So how do you contact a practically untouchable person to tell them “hey… i’m kinda your soulmate maybe?” when hundreds of other people are constantly tweeting them the exact same thing?</p>
<p>* nabbed from a prompt I saw for Teen Wolf that I thought would work just as well for M/A</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mark

"Arthur! Oh my god!"

"Pen-dragon! Pen-dragon! Whoo!"

"ARTYYYY!"

Arthur sighs as the screaming outside the plane gets louder. He turns to Leon and Percy and raises an eyebrow.

"We're ready," Leon says.

"So long as you don't go all Bieber on us and demand we beat the crap out of someone," Percy adds, quiet and serious.

It had taken Arthur a while to understand that yes, Percy was actually joking. Most of the time, in fact. So he smiles now and pulls the sunglasses off his shirt.

"I'm so tired of this shit."

"You're just in a mood with Morgana. Come on, sir," Leon says.

"Right."

They all take a deep breath and Arthur plasters on his smile as they step out. It's not that he's not appreciative of his fans, he is. And he loves most of them and they're mostly lovely people, but sometimes... they just seem batshit insane. He feels Leon on one side and Percy on the other as they step into the screaming crowd, but that's about all he's aware of for a while other than bright camera flashes and people screaming his name.

Faces flash by, hands reaching for him, grasping at him, open mouths, bits of paper, stuff gets thrown at him, a whirl of colour and heat and yelling, so much yelling. He notices a young child clinging to it's terrified looking mother, bawling, and pauses. 

"Arthur keep moving."

"That mother. Perce?"

"I see her. Leon?"

"Yeah, I've got this, go on."

Percy leaves them and Leon shoves Arthur on through. Arthur shuts his eyes against a bright flash and the next second someone is grabbing his shirt and tugging, stretching the collar tight around his neck. He's yanked forwards, choking, and gets a brief look at a crazy girl with orange hair, but then Leon's freeing him and they're off again. He rubs his collar bone as they shove their way to the car and then there's an audible pop (or not really, but it feels that way) as they reach the sanctuary of it. Arthur sprawls across the seats as Leon topples in after him, shutting the door and the noise out. 

"Phew!"

"Arthur, mate, I'm so so sorry. I thought I had it, I really did."

"No harm, Leon."

"Ah, yeah, harm. They got a picture of your chest, mate. I know, I know, and I'm so sorry."

Arthur looks down at his chest, at his stretched t-shirt. He knows what's underneath. 

"Of my chest?" he asks, hoping. 

"Yeah. Of your mark."

"No, no one's seen that. Not even you've seen that. I cover it."

"Not this morning. You were in a hurry. Arthur, I'm sorry."

Arthur pulls the fabric away from his skin, and sure enough, there it is; his mark. His spiral. He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the seat. 

"I'm really sorry."

Arthur keeps his eyes shut. There's a flash of sound and Percy barrels in, panting and laughing, and with a rumble of the engine starts, the car moves away. 

"Wow, it's bedlam out there. I got them safely out of the press then looped back, but you guys were through. There are some real crazies out there! Did you get any underwear thrown at you? One of the rookie cops got a giant pair of pants on his head. It was- what? What's happened? Why does Leon look like that puppy you had to kick for your last film?"

"Why must you always say practically nothing, and then everything all at once?"

"Adrenaline. I'm special. Now he just looks grumpy, Arthur. Poor little Leon. What did he do?"

"Nothing. I did abso-fucking nothing, that's the fucking problem, isn't it? I didn't do my job, now he's... he's... fuck."

Arthur lets it wash over him. Leon and Percy keep bickering back and forth as the story eeks out of Leon in a steady stream of cursing. Arthur lets Leon and Percy decide he's fallen asleep. He doesn't want to deal with any of it. 

**

"Evening Standard, sir? Evening Standard! Evening Standard Miss?"

"Anything good in it?"

"Photograph of Arthur Pendragon's mark, if that gets you going, something about a tragedy somewhere, too much rain, that sort of thing. Evening Standard! See Arthur Pendragon's soulmark! Evening Standard, Pendragon soulmark; is he your destiny? Come on guys, it's raining, make my day and find out if Arthur Pendragon is your soulmate."

**

@Leesh_twelve  
 Retweeted by Pen_love  
have you seen this, @therealarthur? Pic of my mark! we match!

@sweet-prince  
Arthur Pendragon's mark! OMG! 

@toodles_sweet  
this is AMAZING! We totally match! pendragon.com/irl/mark/0997

**

"Welcome to the Right Stuff! I am Gwaine Green, your host extraordinaire. Joining us tonight is Arthur Pendragon, so show your appreciation! Wow, that is a lot of appreciation."

"Evening all."

"Arthur, good to see you, mate! How's it?"

"I was better before being shoved into your stinky arm pit. You're so sweaty, ugh."

"It's the lights! Anyway, you're stinky."

"Good come back. Oh, this seat is uncomfortable. Let's swap."

"That's not convention- hey! Stop shoving-oomph! Okay, that's assault. You just pushed me off my chair, on live tv.... you're not moving, are you? Fine. I'll sit over- oh wow, yeah, we need to get a new sofa."

"Yes, so tonight I will be interviewing Gwaine Green. Am I correct, have I got this right? In school you-"

"Slander! Libel! Whatever it is, it's not true!"

"I was there. It's true. Viewers, I testify to the truth of it."

"You're awful, Arthur. You should all know that he's just here to promote a new film, in which he plays a jokey bloke which is why he's being such a cheeky bastard. In reality he's got a stick so far up his-"

"On air before the watershed, gutter mouth."

"Right! Yes! Right up his tree, just his tree. He has an oak tree in his garden... yes... anyway! Arthur, I'm just going to ask the question everyone has on their minds; your mark."

"Not a question."

"Tell us what happened?"

"Okay. I love my fans, I really- thank you. Yes, thanks for the clapping it can- thanks. I am grateful for your support and all you do and I like it when you come to multiple events and I can recognise a few faces, that's nice. I do not like it when you tug at my clothes, and that's what happened. Someone tugged my shirt down, and a great fat ugly beast took a picture. I am talking to my lawyer."

"Wow! Taking it very seriously, then?"

"It's very private. Of course I take it seriously. While we're on the subject, would you all stop sending photos of your marks to me? And stop using photoshop for nefarious purposes!"

"Haha, still trying to escape the lustful masses, Arthur? You should learn to embrace it."

"No thank you, Gwaine. I shall ignore your disgusting advice, as usual."

"Suit yourself. We'll move on, now. Tell us a bit about this new film. I will show a trailer in a minute, but tell us in your words, then we can mock how crap you are at summarising."

"Christ, why do I ever sign contracts that have your show as part of the planned publicity? I hate you."

"You love me. Now, summarise away."

"Okay, so it's the story of me, my character anyway, and I..."

**

Merlin slurps a spoonful of cornflakes and trundles over to his desktop computer, waking it up to check his emails. It's barely nine o'clock and he thinks he should get a medal for being so good at getting up. He frowns at the number of messages in his inbox, and flicks over to Facebook, to find equal numbers of notifications. He opens twitter and sees a tweet from his mother, linking an article with a comment (it looks like yours!). He clicks on the link and drops his cereal in his lap. 

"Holy shit!"

Gwen comes running from her bedroom, wielding an umbrella, followed by Lance a few seconds later tugging on his jeans. 

"I am armed and-"

"Sorry, sorry, it was just me. Look at this, though," Merlin says. 

Gwen and Lance peer over his shoulder. A few seconds later Gwen lets out an ear piercing shriek and Lance gasps. 

"Oh my god, Merlin, Merlin! He's your soul mate, like me and Lance!"

"Yeah, I know. He's so hot."

"Right. We're going to have a Pendragon marathon. Ellie's obsessed with him, so we'll go to hers."

"I should message him," Merlin says, clicking on therealarthur from the link. 

The twitter page that comes up makes Merlin wonder how such a huge section of the population can be outright liars. 

"Look at all these, guys," he says, disheartened.

There are hundreds of messages saying the same thing Merlin wants to say, claiming to have a matching mark. 

"He was voted hottest guy the other week by some magazine or other, it's not surprising. He's also been so private up till now, that excited debate," Lance says, leaning over to click on the link to an interview.

"What am I meant to do? how on earth can I contact him? Should I even bother?"

"Yes!" Gwen says, rather too loud. She looks contrite and lowers her voice before continuing, "course you should. There's nothing like this, Merlin. This is it, in terms of everything. The whole world. Well, if he is your soulmate, the marks aren't infallible."

"I should try to tell him, though, right?"

"Yes you should," Lance says, a thoughtful look on his face, "and I might know how you can."


	2. Merlin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin fulfils Lance's plan

"So what can I do about it? She invaded my privacy," Arthur say, feeling stress press against his eyeballs. 

He gets up and starts pacing again, even though he knows it's driving Elena nuts. 

"Well, I'm looking into it but I haven't found much. If she'd known your mark was there and we could prove that, it would be a different matter. We'd have precedence for that. But, Arthur, no one bloody knew where it was. I can't find one single person who knew anything at all about your mark."

"I've been careful, so now I'm screwed? Fan-fudging-tastic."

"I didn't say that, I just said I'm still looking. We might have to get a bit more creative. You definitely want to sue her for this? I mean, it may have been an accident."

"I don't care. I don't like the whole world knowing intimate details about me, not when I've always been so careful."

"Okay. The other angle I've been thinking about is assault. Usually someone grabbing a shirt would be laughed out of court, but if I can find a precedence, I might be able to argue that because it culminated in something so harmful, it should be treated differently. If we do go that route, I'd have to see what I can find out about her intent. That shouldn't be too hard, I found her online and it's quite easy to see she was obsessed with you. We might be able to get her for stalking, if I can find evidence of her being anywhere other than thousands of public events. I'll trawl through her online profiles and research the assault angle. I can't promise anything, though."

"That's great, I don't need promises I just need hope. Thank you."

"Bye the way, I think you should see this. I think you'll enjoy it."

Elena turns her computer screen and Arthur's met by a full screen image of himself and Gwaine. Or that's who it must be meant to be, though Arthur is pretty sure no one has a cock that big and... he would never... and the angle...

"Oh dear lord. Is that...?"

"A Christmas tree shaped butt plug? Yup."

"And..."

"You and Gwaine Green. Yup!"

"Stop sounding so happy, that's horrible and scarring! Though, I've seen worse. That time I went on what's his name's show he delighted in showing me the worst the internet can imagine."

"Tell me more."

"Shut up. You know, it's one thing to have them draw my character, but me?"

"It's called RPF and it's totally valid."

"Don't tell me you do it?"

"Nope. I know people who do, though. Just think of it as not being actually you, but the 'you' that you put out for the public."

"Just another character? Right. Still, that's disturbing. I'm pretty sure Gwaine's legs don't bend like that."

"No one's legs bend like that. Doesn't stop it being hot."

Arthur sits back in Elena's squishy guest chair and let's his head fall back.

"Coffee, love?" She asks, and he could really kiss her.

"Yes, please please please."

"Right then. My next meeting's not for a while, so we might as well relax."

Arthur sits forwards and narrows his eyes at her, then grins. 

"So, Ellie, tell me about this latest squeeze I saw on your arm in the Daily Mail."

"Oh you arse! Don't!"

Arthur cracks and starts laughing, as Ellie's face changes colour with irritation. 

**

"Arthur! Oi, Arthur!"

Arthur turns back to his agent, stumbling. He was all set to storm out over her being sympathetic with the crazy girl. 

"I didn't mean you were wrong. Just sit down, we need to talk about this contract."

Arthur sits, with bad grace and a worse scowl. 

"I was wronged, Mithian. Wronged."

"Yes yes, I know. This contract, Arthur."

"Right, fine. What is it they want from me?"

"The usual. I can't find anything wrong, per say. It's just that they insist you have a PA, and that is not supplied by them."

"A PA?" Arthur looks at Mithian, trying to convey that he thinks she's mad. 

"Yes, Arthur, a PA. Someone to be your general dog's body and sort out your appointments book. That thing you usually make Leon do?"

"I make him do nothing. He just likes to organise my chaos."

Mithian gives him a look that he recognises but has never been able to name. Usually it means he's about to lose an argument.

"A PA is someone who organises your chaos. I do not envy anyone the job, you know. Your chaos is ridiculous."

"Why do they insist I have one of these mythical beasts?"

"I have no idea. Who know why anything's in a contract these days?"

"Right. What's the publicity agreement here?"

"Nothing much, just that you do what's necessary. I'll be making some adjustments to specify 'necessary', so you won't be inundated."

"Thanks. Can you sort the PA thing?"

"I already put out an add, just in case. So yes, I can do all your work for you. When I have it narrowed down, though, I want you to meet some of them. It'll be good for you, no arguments!"

Arthur shuts his mouth again and waits for Mithian to continue, but she seems to be done. She waves him away and he has no choice but to leave without making a case for never meeting his stupid PA. He slinks away with his tail between his legs, trying to work out how he lost every single argument today. 

**

"Lance, I've never been a PA and everyone will be applying and I have no experience and also? I don't want to be a PA! I have a nice job here."

"Working in Tescos is not a nice job."

"I work at the library, too, in the museum," Merlin says, archly.

"They don't pay you. Did you see how much you'll get paid? It's worth applying just for that."

Merlin looks at the job description again. It's not like he's never done this kind of stuff before, he'd just have to rejig some things. And the salary is very generous. Much better than Tescos. 

"I still haven't ever been a PA. They ask for experience."

"What you did with Gaius could be called a PA, rather than secretary."

"He's my uncle and it was over a year ago."

"And you could ask your boss at the museum if you can call that job a PA job. After all, you're basically just her dog's body."

"Freya is lovely. I guess I could."

"Great! Get applying."

"I should ask first."

"Better not. Come on, she'll say yes. You want to get your application in nice and early. Get writing."Merlin looks at the computer screen again, then turns to argue some more but Lance is gone, wandering off to the kitchen for yet more food. Merlin gets applying.

**

"Arthur for fuck's sake!"

Arthur stops walking away from Mithian. She never, ever swears. He doesn't dare move an inch, certain that if he does she'll skewer him with the terrifying stiletto she's got on. 

"Jesus you're a complete arse today, Pendragon. Remind me why I don't sack you?"

"I'm the one who sacks you, Mith. Why would you get rid of your biggest, brightest star?"

"Because he's more trouble than he's worth. Now, come."

Arthur goes, making sure to send her wounded looks now and then, because he knows his wounded looks are stellar. She leads him back through the winding offices that he's just escaped from, and into a room with a whiteboard and a long, frightening table. There are four people sat round it, two women and two men. 

"Good. Sorry for the wait, guys, this is Arthur Pendragon, who you'll be working for. Arthur, this is Vivien Olaf, Thomas Keane, Merlin Emrys and Lola White, they are here interviewing for the PA job I told you about last week, that you absolutely promised you'd be here for."

"Ah. Hello. I knew I was here for a reason," Arthur sits under Mithian's stern glare, looking up at her through his eyelashes. 

"Oh for heaven's sake, just ask them questions and pick one? I don't care which, all three are perfectly acceptable and have been vetted."

"Thank you for working through what must have been a staggering pile of applications, Mith."

"Flattery will get you ice cream on Sunday. Now, play nice."

The last is quieter, but Arthur's pretty sure the guy with the ears heard, because he coughs out a definite laugh. Arthur turns to the people sharing the room with him, supressing his groan at their eager faces. He hates these kinds of people.

"Alright, then. I suppose you all know all about me, so why don't you tell me something about you?" He says, nodding to the bright blond girl to start off. 

"Oh, I'm going first? Great, fantastic! I'm Vivien, I believe our father's are aquainted, and we once played naked in a paddling pool," she pauses to giggle and Arthur scratches her off the list, "Something about me? Okay doke, I too enjoy musicals. Oh, who am I kidding? I share your passion for them, Arthur!"

"My passion?"

"Yes, I saw you on Gwaine Green's show when he talked about it with you, you were inspiring."

"Uh..." Arthur thinks back, trying to dig through all the things he's simply labelled 'Gwaine shit' and left tucked away in the corner of his mind. 

"Hem, if I may? I believe the interview under discussion was on the twelve of December, two thousand and twelve, and the tone was that of teasing, or perhaps joking together."

Arthur gapes at the blond guy, because his throat-clearing was just exactly how Arthur imagined Professor Umbridge to sound. So he's got giggles on his left, then Umbridge. Fantastic. He begins to wonder if Mithian is pulling his leg. 

"I think you'll find you are incorrect, Thomas. Arthur has a highly developed sense of art, and musicals are art."

"Thanks, Gi- Vivien? Um, next?"

It's the blond guy.

"Good afternoon, sir. My name is Thomas. I have extensive experience as a PA and can offer the best references. I am a very dedicated person, and will put your needs above everything else. Thank you."

Umbridge nods, then nods to the girl beside him, as if giving her permission to speak. 

"Hi, Lola here. I do not have extensive experience and was surprised to be interviewed, actually. Honestly, I thought it sounded like fun. I've worked as a secretary and as a catering assistant, so I can file and keep a date book, and I can make an ace cup of coffee and stay on my feet all day."

"Hey, this isn't fair! You asked us to say something about ourselves, not sell ourselves. I have loads of experience as a PA."

Arthur looks back at giggles and nods, then turns to his last candidate. He's already more of less decided to pick Lola, because she's the most bearable and he can remember her name, but he reckons he ought to give the last guy a chance. Ears. 

"Um, right. I'm Emrys. Merlin Emrys. Oh crap, I just did Bond I truly did not mean to! I just screwed up saying my name! Which is not something to admit. Right. I'm Welsh, but I do not come from the valleys and have never met Tom Jones or Dylan Thomas, who is very dead. Um, I don't even like Tom Jones. Though Dylan Thomas is a national treasure. Oh god, please stop talking Merlin."

Arthur shakes his head to dislodge the tirade and turns back. Mithian had said questions, plural. That means he has to ask another. What can he ask that will make it clear which of these four idiot he's least likely to throw off a cliff? 

"Okay. Great. Thanks for... that. Now, another question... Right. Okay. Cliff, marry, snog (let's be family friendly here), Gwaine Green... uh... Morgana Lefey..." Arthur wracks his brain for a third, trying to ignore the way he's being looked at like he's crazy. He must know a third famous person, "Ranulf Lord."

"Who's the last one?" 

Everyone turns to look at Lola. 

"Actually, I'm not sure either," admits giggles. 

"He's a director," Ears says, quietly. He has a nice voice, "did a lot of great Indi stuff, but he's most famous for the cult classic 'The Wolves of Terror'. B horror movie gold. I haven't laughed at anything as hard before or since."

Arthur feels his face smile without his permission. He has a soft spot for Ranulf, having known him for a long time, and that particular horror film is one he helped fund, though no one can know on pain of Ranulf never shutting up about it.

"Oh, so just another director guy. Okay. I would marry Gwaine, because he's dreamy, cliff the director, and I guess snog Morgana?" Giggles says, before flicking open her purse and pulling out a mirror. 

Arthur refrains from smacking himself in the forehead.

"Me next! Girls first, lads. Okay, snog Morgana because she's totally hot. Sorry, I know she's your sister, but really. Truly. Dreamy. Cliff Gwaine Green, not bothered by him, and marry Lord. I saw that wolves one, it was alright," Lola says. 

Thomas opens his mouth but Arthur's a bit bored of it now. He knows he can't stand Umbridge, so he waves him silent and waits for Ears. 

"Oh, right. Definitely marry Ranulf Lord, because I saw him cooking on some TV show somewhere and apparently it was really good. Cliff Gwaine Green, because I think he'd send me round the bend, and snog Morgana Lefey, for the publicity."

The last gets him censoring looks from Umbridge and a tsk and toss of the head from Giggles, but Arthur's almost entirely sure he's joking. He looks at ears again, narrowing his eyes. Well, Lola it is, he decides. 

"I dunno what Mithian wants me to do with all you lot. Not sure if she wants a say in who gets hired. Never mind, we'll let you know. Actually, let's not bother with that, I'm hiring Ears. Sorry the rest of you."

He gets up to go, then remembers they have to get out and holds the door, ushering them before him. He leads them out the front and shakes hands with them, only just managing not to call Umbridge Umbridge. Finally just ears is left, glaring at him, hands on hips.

"What?" He says, defensively. 

"You are the rudest man I've met. Were you going to call poor Thomas Umbridge? Because that's cruel. And my name is not Ears. It's Merlin."

"Well, you can't blame me for forgetting it! It's a weird name!"

"Great, fantastic. You're just... ugh!"

"Do you want the job or not? I was going to give it to Lola. I can actually remember her name."

"I want it, don't you dare take it back."

"There's something about you, Merlin," Arthur narrows his eyes again, trying to work it out, but it's elusive, "well, anyway, Mith'll probably be in touch with paper work and red tape. I assume I'll see you three weeks?"

"Yes, just about three weeks."

"You don't sound enthused."

"I'm signing on to be your lacky. Would you be enthused?"

"Oh good god no! I'd never work as a PA. Hellish job, that."

"Great. That cheers me up."

"Good."

Merlin looks at him incredulously, but Arthur can't work out what it is he's supposed to have done this time. 

"Well, good day, Ears."

He walks away, ignoring the yell of 'it's Merlin' and escaping to his nice, safe car. He texts Mithian to know he's already hired someone to make sure she doesn't do something daft like employ one of those exhausting well qualified people, and then he drives home. 

There was definitely something about Merlin Ears.


	3. It begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Merlin set out

Merlin looks around the airport, clinging to his Costa coffee and suitcase handle. He's not entirely sure of what he's going to be doing for Arthur. The scary lady who interviewed him went over his duties, but mostly it was just 'do whatever Arthur tells you to'. He's happy to be getting the money and he's glad he got the job, though not entirely sure how that actually happened. He's not sure exactly how he's going to explain to Arthur that he has the same mark, but he is sure that it's going to go very wrong when he does finally get up the courage to do so. 

"Ears! Hullo, Ears!"

Merlin turns, stumbles on his suitcase and nearly drops his coffee, then trips again and actually does drop it. The cup is caught but a tall guy with blond hair and a friendly smile and a very expensive coat. 

"Leon Knight. You must be Merlin, right?"

"Right," Merlin says, taking the hand held out and the coffee. 

Arthur's stood just behind Leon Knight, wearing a beanie and dark glasses. And...

"Are you wearing a false mustache?" Merlin asks, squinting. It's black. 

"Yes, I'm in disguise. No one's noticed me yet. None of the internet freaks have caught on that I'm flying from here, it's great."

"Stop being an arse, Arthur. He's really not so bad- wait, who a I kidding? You signed non-disclosure stuff, he's a total arse," Leon supplies. Merlin decides he rather likes him. 

"Guys? Let's move this along," A big guy who was lurking behind Arthur says. 

He's wearing a coat as nice as Leon's and black gloves. He looks frightening, not friendly. Arthur grumbles, though, and elbows him in the side, which makes him smile and then he looks less frightening. Merlin smiles at him. 

"This is-"

"Arthur, come on," he says. 

Arthur shrugs and moves forward, taking Merlin's coffee and sipping from it before striding away. The two guys follow, so Merlin trips over himself (again) trying to catch them all up. He's pretty sure that 'getting left behind' is a firing offence. When he catches up, the frightening guy presses a fresh cup of coffee into his hands and takes his suitcase. 

"Stick to Arthur and Leon, I'll see you guys there when I'm done with baggage. Though it really isn't my job, Arthur. If you'd just do this like a normal person you could check your own bags."

"He's just grumpy because he pulled the short straw. Come on, we're in first class. I love it when they spring for first class. Not that I don't upgrade when they don't, but there's something about it when someone else is paying the extortionate sums demanded, don't you think? Well, no, I don't suppose you know much about it, eh, Ears?" Arthur says, steering him all the time towards the first class area. 

"Ignore him, Merlin. He is able to be a decent human being underneath all the shite surface. I think," Leon pauses as if trying to remember, then laughs at his joke and trotting into the lounge before them. 

"He's annoying. He's a morning person," Arthur says, following. 

Merlin finds himself, two hours and three cups of coffee later, sat in first class between Arthur and Leon. He has learnt that Arthur likes oranges and pears, likes the way Merlin drinks his coffee but prefers black himself, eats bacon and eggs for breakfast on Sundays and toast and jam other days, unless he has a pre five am call when he eats coffee. He doesn't smoke, unless he's drunk, and he doesn't drink if he's in the middle of shooting unless he's coerced ('Morgana is an evil liar and a witch, watch out for her, Ears'). He can surf but doesn't, can't play cricket to save his life but does, can play rugby 'beautifully' and does, can play half a dozen other sports and can't play a handful of others.

"Am I supposed to remember all the crap you tell me, Arthur?" He asks as the plane slowly fills with business and then standard class passengers.

"Yes of course. Leon usually does a PA's job, so he might have some tips. Leon?"

"Ignore most of what he says and pay attention to everyone else. Arthur will not remember to pin up his schedule or keep track of it, he won't know where his script is or if there are revisions, he won't know where he's meant to be when. Which is probably why they made him hire a PA. He has a reputation for not paying attention! Arthur, for heaven's sake."

Arthur's leaning across their laps and waving to someone down the other end of the plane. She takes off her dark glasses and peers back, and Arthur recognises her as Morgause LeFey, terrifying owner of several magazines, a huge fortune, and a company that makes plastic bottles. She gets up and stalks back towards them on three inch heels, looking like an add for clothes. 

"Art, darling."

"Goose, always a pleasure. Afraid I'm shoved in by the window today, so I'll just have to blow you a kiss," he says, and does so. 

"What are you filming now? Morgana mentioned something about a horse?"

"She's a cow. I am not the back end of a pantomime horse. I'm a slick business man."

"No you're not. He's a used car sales man with airs and graces. He's practising," Leon says, standing up and actually kissing Morgause's hand. 

To Merlin's surprise she laughs and kisses his cheek, then allows him to kiss her properly. Arthur makes a disgusted noise. 

"He fancied Morgana first. Then he realised she was gay and moved on to sister number two," he says quietly to Merlin. 

"Art, be a dear and keep your gob shut. You must be the long suffering PA my sister's girlfriend hired? She said Arthur chose you because you cliffed Gwaine Green. Good call. Leon, come join me up front when Percival makes an appearance."

"He's behind us, he got stuck with check in and then finding Arthur painkillers for a headache," Leon says with a scowl. Merlin had missed the headache bit, "I'll join you when he shows."

"Lovely. Be good, Arty."

She stalks back the way she came, leaving Leon standing in the corridor staring after her. 

"It's not fair, he's being mean. I have got a headache. He makes it sound like I was making it up."

"You're being a brat and acting like a two year old. Why?"

Leon sits, scowling at Arthur. Arthur looks out the window and Leon sighs, face softening. 

"Sorry, mate. I'm just in a bad mood. I know you hate this bit."

"Hate what bit?" Merlin says, unable to contain his curiosity.

"He doesn't like flying. Oh look, Perce! Over here!"

"He can read where we are on his ticket," Arthur says, still sulking.

Percival/Perce comes over and looks down at them, brows furrowed.

"I'm behind you guys."

"No you're not, Leon's deserting us for his girlfriend," Arthur says. 

Leon nods and makes his escape, leaving Percival/Perce to fit his considerable bulk into the roomy first class seat. He makes it look small. When he's situated he holds out a hand. 

"Percy. Sorry about earlier, mornings," he grins and Merlin takes his hand readily. 

"Merlin. No problem."

"Did you find me painkillers?"

Percy passes a blister pack and a bottle of water over to Arthur without a word. He touches the flight attendant as she passes, saying a few quiet words, then puts his seat back and closes his eyes. A few minutes later they get the safety show and then they're off. 

Merlin's disappointed that both his seat mates go to sleep as soon as they take off, but he's excited by the free drinks (he sticks to soft drinks) and dinner he's offered, and the sleep mask, crossword book and inflight TV he's given the choice of. He watches The Lady Killers. 

When they land in Romania Percy and Leon shuffle them to a waiting car and then hotel, Arthur staying fuzzy and sleepy the whole time. He retreats to his room leaving them to their own devices.

"Right. Let's get you started, Merlin," Percy says and passes over a Blackberry phone and file of paper.

It takes a few hours for Merlin to get all the information sorted. He's given access to Arthur's work email, which he's expected to monitor, Arthur's schedule and Arthur's contract and paperwork. He realises that he's basically expected to manage Arthur like he's a child. He goes to bed exhausted and sleeps a few hours before getting up again and trying to stay awake so that he can sleep the normal hours. 

The next morning he wakes up at six, with his alarm, and showers, shaves and gets dressed before going over to bang on Arthur's door. It takes him five minutes to wake Arthur at which point a key is given to him and Arthur goes straight back to bed. Merlin lets himself into the room and gets Arthur up. 

Next on his itinerary is getting Arthur to the set, which involves getting him into the car park at the right time to be picked up with other actors in a minibus. Arthur doesn't make introductions and the only one Merlin recognises is Gaius West, who he doesn't dare speak to, so he sits silently at the back with Arthur, holding Arthur's coffee. 

While Arthur gets his makeup done Merlin finds the catering tent and gets him another coffee and some toast, which he delivers before Arthur gets into costume. While Arthur films Merlin makes sure he's got the right scripts for tomorrow, finds him more coffee, finds someone who can tell him where Arthur needs to be for lunch, and then it's back to being at Arthur's beck and call. 

By the time they get back to the hotel that evening Merlin's exhausted again, and Arthur doesn't seem to be much better. He waves absently to Merlin at his room door, then turns. 

"Want to order room service?"

Merlin managed a sandwich at lunch time, but that's all he's eaten all day. He agrees with enthusiasm and orders himself pasta, chips and ice cream for dessert. Arthur watches him eat it all with fascinated horror. 

"You're like one of those people who has a worm inside then; skinny on the inside."

"I'm skinny on the outside, that makes no sense."

"Ah, yes. Well. I should apologise for yesterday, I was drugged. I take something to make me calm for flying. No excuse for my behaviour, just a reason."

"You weren't dreadful. You have a seven o'clock call tomorrow morning, then you're filming... I have a list of the scenes and the scripts for you, though you should have already seen them. There are no changes. Lunch won't be till three so you should eat more than toast for breakfast and I'll make sure you have a snack. You finish up early, though, five o'clock."

"Wow. You know a lot."

"It's my job. Okay, I've been reliably informed I'm also expected to do your laundry."

"Don't be ridiculous, I'm not a child. Besides, the hotel offers a service. Thank you, Merlin."

"For?"

"Dunno. Leon says I don't say it enough. You know, I always forget how knackering this job is. And this time I'm coming in in the middle of the shoot, which always sucks. Everyone else has been here ages already."

"Maybe introduce me tomorrow? I was awkward today."

"Sorry, I didn't think of it."

Merlin shrugs and gets up to head to his own room. Leon was right; jokes aside, Arthur's not all bad. 

Merlin changes his opinion of Arthur not being 'all bad' before the week's out.


	4. On set

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens on set...

Arthur manages to throw his jet lag by the second morning on set. He's pretty sure Merlin's still struggling, but that's not his problem, his problem is trying not to step on any of the toes he seems to be in danger of stepping on. The 'lead actor, Arthur, that's me not you', Mordred, is the main one to unruffled, though why he's ruffled Arthur has no idea. He sets Merlin on it. 

The second is the director, Gaius West, but Arthur knows that's because Gaius West hates his father and there's nothing he can do about that, so he sends Merlin to butter him up. If Merlin's on his good side, that's like half of Arthur being on Gaius's good side, really. Leon says it's not, but Leon doesn't know anything and is basically on holiday on this location anyway because there are no fans around.

The third is Nimueh, and Arthur's always in her bad books. He doesn't throw poor Merlin to her to eat up and spit out, he goes himself and pretends to admire her and gives her chocolates because and tells her she 'looks so very thin and beautiful', and they're okay. Nimueh isn't too hard, really. He does have to get Merlin to launder a few shirts and things. 

His third day on set is better, but he keeps on seeing Merlin peering over Gaius's shoulder and asking questions and not being curious, which is all very well, but he's not doing his job if he's being curious. Arthur ignores it and focusses on the way Mordred's coming running at him at a hundred miles an hour. 

"Run, Selk! Run!"

"Run, Fo-rest, ruun," Arthur says, a bit too loudly. Gaius scowls. 

"Cut!"

Mordred skids to a halt. To Arthur's relief he's laughing, even if Gaius is trying to burn him up with an eyebrow shift. Arthur holds up his hands and makes a face at the camera.

"Sorry guys, I was distracted by my PA doing NOTHING AT ALL!" he shouts the last blithely, then grins across at Merlin, "don't worry, Ears, I'm sure everthing's ready for this afternoon and that you know my schedule and have made sure that shirt will be clean and-"

"I get it, prat. I'm moving. I am, by law, occasionally allowed a break," Merlin glares and stalks away, compounding Gaius's glare. 

"You should be nicer to him in front of Gaius. Merlin is charming and has him on side already," Mordred murmurs with a smile.

"You'd know, he buttered you up nicely, didn't he?" Arthur says, temper getting the better of him. 

Now Mordred and Gaius are both scowling.

"If you could do your own job now, Pendragon, that you have lectured Merlin on his?" Gaius says, "Marks, guys!"

They go again. And again. It's not Arthur's fault this time, he genuinely slips on the ice, falling onto his back into of tearing off down a mountain. Or the hundred yards they'll film it. He still gets glared at, so he scowls right back at Mordred. 

That doesn't turn out to be such a good idea. Apparently, when running full pelt towards someone you don't always have to miss them, and can totally call it an accident when you crash into them full speed and send them tumbling down a hill. Arthur picks himself up and lets costume sort him, then gets back on his mark. 

"This is utter crap, Pendragon," Mordred says in passing. 

"Isn't it just?" Arthur responds, feeling that maybe he isn't over his jet lag and maybe he should consider not paying Merlin. After all, Mordred's no longer being nice. 

This time when Mordred yells, he runs. As fast as he can. And doesn't stop until he's sure he's out of Mordred's zone of impact. He has to walk twice the distance back up, but Gaius is satisfied, he didn't fall over or get hit, and they don't have to do it again. 

"Alright, guys. Can we get the next bit?" Gaius says. 

"Thank fuck for that," Arthur says, making his way to his next mark. 

Mordred follows, standing just at Arthur's shoulder. It's a scene where they have to have some kind of chemistry, so Arthur turns to him. 

"Sorry about earlier. Still feeling the jet lag."

"Thought you'd be used to it now, big international star like you."

"Oh yeah, England one second, then Paris and Berlin and New York. I just spend endless time in Romanian mountains, freezing my arse off."

"That's right, a lot of the location stuff on your last piece was up here, wasn't it?"

"I filmed a thing for Ranulf between then and now, but yes. Romanian mountains are my home from home."

"If you could focus, Pendragon?" Gaius snaps.

"Are you done lighting?" Mordred asks, his hand finding Arthur's shoulder as it's meant to. 

"No," Gaius grumbles. 

"Wow he really hates you."

"Nah, just my Dad. He thinks I got where I am thanks to Dad, too, so there's that. He's got good reasons, you know. He's alright."

"Maybe you are, too."

Arthur turns to smile at Mordred. He's so young, Arthur realises. His mark is on plain show, snaking from between thumb and finger over the back of his hand and up his arm, playing out there. 

"Do you not hide that?" he asks, absently touching it. 

Mordred looks surprised, then smiles. 

"I'm a druid. Unless the film asks for it, I'm fine with everyone seeing. Do you want to see my other markings?"

"As long as this isn't flirting...?" Arhtur asks, confused by the warmth in Mordred's eyes, which gets him laughed at. 

"I'm not flirting with you. You're not my type, seeing as you have no breasts, Arthur. Everyone knows I'm straight! I'm not private like you are," Mordred says, rubbing his arms. 

He's got no top on, just a stringy wife beater, and must be freezing. Arthur turns to one of the guys he recognises from another job. 

"Oi, Thomas, how long?"

"It'll be a bit, Arthur. Sorry for the wait."

Arthur nods and takes off his coat, passing it to Mordred.

"No, I'm fine. You'll get cold."

"I have good circulation, I've had to get really fit for this and I'm pretty used to it. Get warm or you'll turn blue. No smurfs in this movie."

Mordred takes the coat. Merlin comes up and glares at him, then checks with Gaius he's not interrupting. 

"Arthur Pendragon, you're a pig! I've done your arm long list of jobs and I've done the other jobs I get paid for that you don't know that I do and I've tidied your bloody caravan, can I please have lunch because it's three o'clock and I'm hungry and tired!" he yells, once Gaius has given him the nod. 

Arthur feels a bit surprised, but not much. PAs usually just cower and cry, but shouting isn't entirely new.

"It's not a caravan it's-" Mordred starts, but Merlin's having none of it.

"And you, suck up to him all you want, but don't come crying to me when you realise what a dollophead he is! And don't listen to his advice, because he's an idiot!"

"No! Yes, but only because I'm starving." 

Merlin stomps away, leaving them a bit wind blown. They must look it, because people from make up and costumes come fuss over them, making Mordred give Arthur back the coat and brushing at it. 

"Okay guys, we're ready," someone calls (not Gaius, he'd be meaner, Arthur thinks).

Arthur scratches his stubble and yawns, stretches and gets on his mark. He feels Mordred's hand on his shoulder and gets into character. 

"Okay. Action!"

"Can you see anything, Selk?"

"Just that bloody snowman."

"It's not a snowman, no one out here to build one."

"Um... ugh, crap. Sorry guys," Arthur says, rubbing his face, trying to get his head on right. 

"Keep rolling, please. Alright, Pendragon?" Gaius asks, softer than usual. 

Arthur nods.

"okay. Go on, Mordred. From the top."

"Can you see anything, Selk?"

"Just that bloody snowman."

"It's not a snowman, no one out here to build one."

"It looks like a snowman. It's got a head. There's nothing here, Christ. Let's keep climbing."

"We should move underground, you'll freeze to death out here, you're not used to it."

"No tunnels here, Christ. Move it."

Arthur starts climbing, waiting for Gaius to call cut and make them re-do it, but the call doesn't come. He keeps climbing for a bit before turning, and everyone bursts out laughing. Arthur smiles.

"Very funny, guys. Have we cut?"

"Cut!"

Arthur tries not to be too put out, but he hurts from falling over and he just wants to get this done. He climbs back to his mark and waits for notes. 

"Arthur, you need to be a bit more deadpan, please. Remember that you're trying to persuade Christ that you've seen and done everything."

"Which I have, you know," he says, completely dead pan. 

"And Mordred, you look up to this guy and think he's the bees knees, but you're also confused by him. Be confused, yes?"

"Right. He's confused, I'm deadpan. Got it," Arthur says. Deadpan.

Mordred snorts, ducking behind Arthur's shoulder so Gaius won't notice, and then they go again. 

By the time Arthur finishes out he's feeling every place he bruised falling. Mordred follows him to his trailer, full of energy and enthusiasm, but all Arthur wants is food and his street clothes. When he gets to his trailer he gets rid of Mordred gentler than he would have this morning and climbs in with a sigh. 

"Merlin? Where the fuck are you."

"Right here. With your nice clean clothes and a sandwich, I realised you probably hadn't eaten all day either. You do know that I'm allowed breaks, though, right?"

"Was that an apology? It was half arsed."

"You don't deserve more than that."

Arthur nods. He pauses, then remembers that everyone's seen his mark so he doesn't need to. He should go to makeup to get everything off, but he's tired. He gets out of his costume, striping to his underwear, and hangs it all back up. 

"I wish they'd heat these places better. Pass my clothes?" Arthur turns, to see Merlin gaping at him. 

He puts a hand over his mark and scowls, turning to the mirror and starting to scrub the makeup off his face. He does a half arsed job, but it's enough. 

"Give me my clothes. Don't stare."

"I wasn't, not at that. What happened to you?"

"What?"

Merlin steps closer and touches his side, lightly,  
fingers gentle, barely there. Arthur takes a sharp breath at the coldness of them, then tugs his clothes out of Merlin's hand, pulling on the warm joggers. He looks down and sees a bruise forming. 

"there's another on your back, down your buttocks I'd suppose from this end," Merlin says, completely unembarrassed to be talking about Arthur's arse.

"Right. I fell, down a mountain. It'll be fine, I won't even have to ice it because it's so fucking cold. I hate this place. Come on, I'm done and we have to get the bus so let's go."

Arthur tugs on his t-shirt and jumper as he talks, shoves his damp feet into his trainers and opens the sandwich. Merlin picks up the costume and raises it to show where he's going before hurrying away. Arthur sits on his steps to wait, eating his sandwich. 

The next day is no better, for either Arthur or Merlin. Arthur yells at Merlin more and adds ridiculous things to his list for fun, and then yells at him for not having the coffee hot enough. Arthur feels a bit bad, but it's not like he can yell at Gaius who is the person he really wants to yell at, after sitting in the snow for half an hour with Nimueh trying different seduction techniques. 

"It would be nice, people, if you could do some bloody acting!" Gaius roars after forty minutes of it. 

"It w-would be easier if I could f-feel my toes," Arthur says, teeth chattering. 

"Man up, Pendragon. Right, let's try this again."

They do finally get it, but Arthur has to beg a twenty minute break for a hot shower because he really can't feel his toes and his lips are tinged blue, which the make up people say they can't change. Gaius, to his credit, gives him half and hour so he can get some soup as well, which is nice. It's nice to eat before five o'clock for once. 

They have to film the scene with the three of them, though, and it's a hard one. Mordred hasn't done anything like it before, so he keeps either looking at Nimueh, who he can't see, or not looking at the wolves, which he can. 

"Cut! Arthur, talk to Mordred about it. I'm out of patience and am going to have lunch with Merlin while to chitchat it out," Gaius says between his teeth, throwing down his headphones and storming away. 

"Has it been like this from the start?" Arthur asks Mordred, worried. 

If the whole shoot is like this, it's going to be hell. Arthur's worked with worse, but he wishes Gaius would get the stick out of his arse. 

"No, just-"

"Since I've come, great."

"No, not since you. I think Gaius doesn't like Nimueh," he says, very quietly. 

Arthur looks over at her, where she's sat in the director's chair wrapped in a fur coat, a coffee in one hand and shouting at her own PA. She has three. Arthur can see that. 

"Great. It's just this week, then. Okay, I can manage. Okay. Look, I know it's hard to get the eyeline right, but lets just do a walk through and you can practise where you're looking."

It's almost fun. Mordred can't seem to get it, so Arthur commandeers costume department members to be wolves and they start growling. When Gaius comes back they've pretty much got into an all out brawl, Arthur and Mordred back to back, laughing so hard it's warming them up, the others lunging.

"Have you children finished?" Gaius says, and everyone melts mysteriously away. 

"Merlin, can you ring my sister?" Arthur says, suddenly remembering, "it's her birthday and I forgot the time difference! Just tell her that I remembered and will call tomorrow, okay?"

Merlin grumbles about other work he already has, but nods. 

"Oh! And I spilt coffee on that t-shirt this morning, can you make sure it gets in the wash? Great, thanks."

"Are we done with the domestics?" Gaius asks, impatiently. 

They go again. Mordred gets it better this time and Arthur thinks he might be forgiven for the earlier riot. 

"W-we're in the middle of fucking nowhere, skywards up, and now you tell me there are wolves? Fucking wolves! Domini, this is not funny!"

"Selk, who is Domini? No one's here."

"Christ, she is standing behind you. But you can't see her, because you're sunblind."

"Can we just fight the wolves and deal with your unravelling mind later?"

"One day I'm taking you underground and you will be just a- left!"

Arthur lunges, knowing exactly where his wolf is through practice and hours of examining the pictures Gaius gave him. 

"Look to your right you foolish man!"

There's more. They do get it, finally, and get to sit in a hollow of snow. But they do get blankets and hot tea, or Splut as Christ calls it, because it makes men go 'splut!'. 

"I've never seen you anything like excited. And you were scared."

"Christ, I don't get scared. The wolves were a surprise. But it was Domini who- oh bleeding hell, she's back the hag."

"Nice to see you, too Selk."

"Oh fuck, I've lost it, sorry guys!" It's Mordred this time, looking so guilty as to be close to tears. Arthur leans his head back and closes his eyes. 

He gets back to the hotel freezing cold and wanting to murder Mordred. Instead he shoves into Merlin's room and lies face down on his bed. 

"Arthur, what do you think you're doing?"

"I want a massage."

"Um, no."

"Not from you, pillock. Nimueh keeps going on and on and on and ON about how She doesn't need to buy publicity by showing off her mark and how I was a stupid brat to do it I really, really feel like shooting poor innocent Mordred and ARGH! This is such a shit job. It's such a shit film!"

"Mm, the script could do with some work. As could the plot. It looks alright on Gaius's little screen thing. You're beauty is unmarred."

Arthur feels a little pang, even if it is a sarcastic little dig and nothing more. He gets up and rolls his aching shoulders, retreating to his own room to email Morgana. He falls asleep before he sends it off. 

Merlin wakes up on Sunday feeling like he's going to die of exhaustion. He rolls over to turn off his alarm, realises it's nine and for some reason his alarm didn't go off and gets up in a panic, showering and dressing and hurling himself into the hallway still wet. He runs smack into Nimueh, who's dressed up pristine as ever.

"You! Arthur's PA! Look where you're going, you dog."

"Sorry. I'm late."

"For what? The little shit has the day off, I assume you do too?"

Oh. Oh. It's Sunday and he has the day off. He looks at her, gaping, and she sighs. 

"Come along, Celina. Have Daria and Lucien taken my things down to the taxi?"

"Yes."

"Let's go, then. Get out of this hellhole."

"Oh! You're leaving!"

"Yes, thank god."

Merlin keeps his mouth shut, but privately agrees. Gaius hates the poor woman for some reason, and Arthur's not very complimentary, though he's complimentary about no one. Merlin trails back into his room and falls face first onto the bed, pressing his speed dial to call Gwen. 

-Merlin! Good to hear from you, but why are you calling me at seven am on a Sunday?-

"Forgot the time difference. It's all of nine here. Are you and Lance having sex?"

-We might have been.-

-Hello Merlin, you cockblocker. How are you, mate?-

"Hell. this is hell. Why did I do this?"

-To-

"Shut up, talking here. He made me do his laundry. He's demanding. He keeps shouting at me. I have so many things to do! He never knows where he's supposed to be, I'm supposed to keep track of everything which means I have to keep on top of script updates and schedules and be organised and I don't even know what half the things I'm doing are! He made me calls his sister, because apparently he couldn't do it because of the 'time difference'. you're two hours behind!"

-A bit-

"Still complaining, here, Lance. I don't care about a few minutes here or there. Although, honestly, he probably doesn't know the time difference!"

-Well, neither do you. It's-

"Shut up, Gwen. I'm complaining. He made me polish his shoes. Because apparently you need shiny shoes to walk through snow to an interview with a magazine! A magazine, not even on TV, and the photo is of his head!"

-So you don't like it?-

"I'm still complaining."

"Very loudly, would you keep it down?"

"AHHH! Gwen, Gwen, Lance, there's someone in my bed. What the fuck?"

"Merlin, I'm not in your bed. You are in my bed. You came in here and faceplanted on top of me."

"How? What?" 

"The door wasn't locked, because Mordred woke up and decided to invite me to go skiing and I was tired and didn't lock it. I don't know, otherwise. You're tired too? I don' care, just hush."

-Hello, Arthur! We're both really big fans-

"Shut up, Gwen," Arthur says.

-Did you hear that, Lance? He told me to shut up!-

"I'm telling you to shut up, too!"

"AHHH!" Merlin thinks this might be becoming a habit. 

A shaggy haired man sits up from the other side of Arthur one had planted on Arthur's back. 

"Ow, that's a bruise, Gwaine."

-Merlin?-

"Yes, Lance?"

-Are you in a bed with Arthur Pendragon and Gwaine Green?-

"It would seem so."

-Get photos. now, we're going to have sex. Bye-

"Maybe we should have sex, too," Gwaine says, yawning. 

Merlin gets off the bed and starts at Arthur, who seems to have gone back to sleep. He's even snoring. 

"Eh, he does that," Gwaine says, sounding very Irish in his sleepiness, which is so incredibly ruffled and hot it's not funny. And then he smiles and Merlin...

well, Merlin runs away and hides in his room, because what else are you meant to do when you find your boss, who has your soulmark, in bed with a scruffy but handsome fellow who might have been part of your wank fantasies at some point?


	5. Settled on set

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another week on set

Merlin can't hide forever, though he very much wants to. Gwen refuses to pick up the phone, preffering to have sex, so Merlin has to go by his own advice. Which is how he finds himself sneaking down to the restuarant, peering round corners and hiding pressed against walls. He's flattened himself to the one just before the doors and is mentally preparing himself to peek round the corner when he's ambushed. 

"Ah, there you are, Merlin. I was wondering if you'd hear from Gerraint? Mithian told me he should have emailed me, therefore you, with details of- what?" 

The 'what' is in response to Merlin jumping a foot in the air and hyperventilating, pointing at Arthur and gasping for air. Arthur watches him in perplexion as he tries to steady himself. 

"You... I... you..." Merlin manages. 

"Is all this dramatic behaviour because of this morning? Honestly, Merlin. You're such an idiot," Arthur says, still standing looking at him with that mixture of baffled confusion and exhasperation Merlin has become familiar with. 

"This morning? You mean me falling into my employers bed? No, wait- falling into my employer and his boyfriend's bed?" Merlin says, irritation giving him back some equilibrium. 

"Well, for one thing, Gwaine Green is most certainly not my boyfriend. And for another, my PAs have done weirder things. I had assumed you were just tired, but now I'm questioning. Was it on purpose?"

"Of course it bloody wasn't!"

"Well then," Arthur says, as if that solves everything. 

Merlin gapes after him as he steps around Merlin towards the dining room, then pauses and looks back. 

"Come, Merlin. Tell me about Gerraint," he says, expectantly. 

Merlin goes. He hasn't heard from Gerraint, he doesn't even know who Gerraint is, but Arthur doesn't believe him and confiscates his Blackberry, paging through. They're in line for the buffet when he thrusts the phone back at Merlin, huffing. 

"Don't you ever check the spam box? Are you actually simple?" Arthur says. 

"I'm not simple. And no, oddly enough, I don't check the- it's definitely not called a spam box."

"Yes it is. Inbox, outbox, spambox, junk box."

"They're folders, I think. Anyway, what am I looking at?"

"Read it, brainy."

Merlin reads it. or he starts to. He's quickly distracted by Arthur reaching the buffet table and grabbing two trays, filling them as if he's trying to empty the buffet completely of food. He passes one to Merlin to carry, and then marches off. Merlin follows him, wondering if he'll ever learnt to just roll with the weirdness. While Merlin reads and responds to the email, Arthur gets a good way through his mountain of food. 

"You'll get the week off, of course," Arthur says round a mouthful of bacon, toast, hashbrown and rice krispies. 

Merlin makes a disgusted face, then his brain catches up. 

"A week off?" He says. 

"Yes. You're contract is for this job, the Gerraint thing is a whole other film. Did you not catch on? I mean, Selk is hardly a businessman, is he?"

"Well, yes, I had noticed- right. A week off. Great."

"If you talk to Mithian she can probably wrangle some holiday pay or something, if you're worried about money," Arthur says, stuffing a sandwich of cereal, tomatoes and sausage into his mouth. 

Merlin almost laughs. He's being paid so well he could probably not work for a year after this, the way he lives. He doesn't, though, deciding to keep quiet and be greedy. If holiday pay is on offer, he's not going to turn it down. He can put some in a savings account and go see his Mum in Ireland when they're done. 

"Hello, boys. Good morning. Merlin, isn't it?" Gwaine says, taking a seat next to Merlin and inching closer. Merlin inches away, "unfriendly. Your pet is unfriendly, Arthur. Come on, darling. Don't be shy."

"Shtopf beinnff a ffppf," Arthur says. 

"For those not versed in Arthur-speak, that was stop being a fart," Gwaine says. 

Arthur swallows and whacks Gwaine round the head. 

"It was not. That was stop being a- christ my mouth is too full so nonsense. Stop being an idiot and scaring him, he doesn't know you're joking. He's joking, Merlin. He's actually sometimes alright, maybe. Merlin thinks you're my boyfriend," Arthur says. 

"Oh, no. Not another one. Why are all the pretty one's so dumb?" Gwaine says. 

"Oi! I am not dumb. You two were in bed together, what was I supposed to surmise- that you have sleepovers?" Merlin says, indignant. 

Both Gwaine and Arthur look at him as if to say 'duh' and Merlin feels stupid for a brief moment, then realises that no, they're just incredibly weird. He gives them the finger and checks Arthur's inbox. 

"Arthur, did anyone drop a script by this morning?" Merlin asks, looking over an email from one of the writers. 

"No. Maybe. Someone came... but that was Mordred, and he wanted to do something dreadful. So no. Unless I was asleep?" Arthur says, looking confused. 

Merlin emails back to say scripts should be dropped off with him, not Arthur, and this one has gone awry, then scrolls through Arthur's spam box- spam folder. 

Somehow, over the course of the day, Merlin gets over his embarrassment around Gwaine and manages to actually have whole conversations without hiding behind his blackberry. He finds out that Gwaine is filming a behind the scenes feature and that he'll be here all week, and he also learns a lot about Arthur's school days which Arthur says is entirely untrue, from start to finish. It's almost fun, and Gwaine goes from 'wank bank fantasy' to 'strange but funny bloke', and somehow destroys all Merlin's fantasies by being a complete arse instead of lovely. 

On Monday Merlin gets up in what is almost a routine, showering and unlocking Arthur's room, stealing his covers and opening the curtains before heading down to pick up coffee for Arthur and a breakfast roll for himself. Arthur meets him on the landing to their rooms, dressed in sweats and flipflops and a jumper, looking like he's still asleep. Merlin ducks into Arthur's room to get their coats then shuts the door, handing Arthur the coffee as they head down to the bus. 

Today, instead of the small huddle of maybe four or five people, there's a crowd. Merlin pauses and looks around in confusion, but Arthur carries on without missing a beat so Merlin hurries to catch up. Mordred bounces (yes, bounces- it's six am and Mordred is bouncing) over and beams at them. 

"Guess who's here?" He says quietly, grinning. 

Arthur grunts. 

"He hasn't had coffee yet, no talking," Merlin translates. 

"You haven't changed, Arthur," someone says, looming up behind Mordred and holding out a hand for Arthur. 

Arthur, to Merlin's surprise, shakes himself awake and passes his coffee back to Merlin, taking the guy's forearm in a strong, warm grip. 

"Odin. It's good to see you, even if it is abominably early," Arthur says, voice rough with sleep. 

"You haven't changed a bit, not since you turned fifteen and decided black out curtains were the best invention ever," Odin says, laughing. 

Arthur smiles back and Odin melts into the crowd. Arthur takes his coffee back and gulps it down, shuddering. 

"I've never seen you talk in the morning before drinking at least two cups of coffee," Merlin observes, filling Arthur's cup from the thermos. 

"Yes, well. His son was part of my security team when I was young, he died in my service. I forgot Gaius had cast him," Arthur say, wincing as the new coffee scalds him.

"Problem?" Merlin asks. 

Mordred's head is flicking between them, wide eyed, fascinated. Arthur shakes his head and Mordred's shakes too, then someone else appears. A tall, blond woman with her hair braided, who looks like she could take out half a pub in a brawl and probably level an army with the sweep of her muscular arm. Mordred's eyes light up and his mouth opens, but then shuts again. 

"Pendragon," the blond says, and Arthur nods to her, "is it true that Gaius is doing my job for me?"

"Yup. Did a whole wolf fight thing without you, Isolde," Arthur says, "will you tell him off? Can I watch?"

"I will tell him off, you cannot watch," Isolde says. 

"Tristan here?" Arthur says, sipping his coffee at a more normal rate. 

"No. Next week. We're doing little things and choreography this week, he'll do all the explosions next week. You'll miss it, but then you'll be with Gerraint as I understand it?"

"If anyone can make things explode more than your husband, it's Gerraint," Arthur observes. 

Isolde laughs shortly and walks away. Merlin is pretty sure Mordred's eyes are going to fall out of his head if they get any wide, and then yet another someone comes forward to greet Arthur. It goes that way until the bus arrives, and Merlin's ready to give up his usual seat at Arthur's side to one of these friends, but Arthur tugs him down before he can walk past. 

"Where am I meant to be today?" he asks, pulling sunglasses out of a pocket and putting them over his face.

"Um, costume first, then makeup are going to bloody you up, then you're filming an aftermath of a fight with someone in location A," Merlin starts, holding out a hand to cut Arthur off before he can interrupt, "and before you ask, that's the one on the slope where you fell, yes."

Arthur listens, sipping his coffee, but Merlin knows he'll have to repeat it a million times. He reminds Arthur about the script revision and Arthur says he learnt it, though he has no idea where it goes, and then Merlin has to remind him which scene it's part of and go over the lines with him. 

All in all, it's a tiring morning, but Arthur is in a much better mood and the moments waiting to film are filled with laughter instead of tense silence. At one point Arthur starts a snowball fight with two tweens and chases them all over the mountain side lobbing snow at them and pissing costume and make up off, but everyone else finds it funny so the mood is elevated when Merlin breaks for lunch. 

The afternoon he finds himself free, by two o'clock he's done his tasks for the day so he goes to sit in Arthur's chair and play on the Gameboy he always leaves there, but instead finds himself drawn into the scene. Arthur, or rather Selk, is kneeling by one of the lads, who is also kneeling, gripping the boy's shoulder. 

"I am not your father, I never even knew your mother," Selk is saying. 

"I was so sure," the boy answers, sounding tearful.

He's pretty good, Merlin thinks, and wonders if eye-candy Pendragon can pull of something of equal emotion, then feels disloyal thinking it, and reminds himself that Arthur isn't just a pretty face, according to all he's heard. 

"No. Tell me about your mother again, tell me about her. Was she sunblind, like you are? Or was she earthen like I?"

"Sunblind. She had hair the colour of mine, and eyes like the sky, the like sky. And she sang to me, these songs, like lullabies."

The boy starts humming, words and music pouring out of him, and Merlin wonders if he's a choir boy. He sounds like an angel. Selk listens, then sends the boy to find firewood and his companion. Mordred, or Christ, rather, sits on the ground at his side, dumping an arm full of wood. 

"No way we can light this," Selk says, crouching back on his heels and picking at the sticks. 

"No way you can light that, I can. I think. My brother used to make the fire-spark," Christ says, leaning back on his elbows, bare in the snow, as if he's sunbathing. 

"My brother is dead," Selk says, piling the sticks on top of one another, voice harsh, "stupid idiot. He fell, looking for a way up, a way out, looking for the sun. A fool."

"Is that why you came? To find what he could not?"

"He found it alright. Oh, he found it. He came out at night and found something soft and beautiful with corn coloured hair and eyes like the dank pools, he always said. Seems he did more than look at her, judging by the boy."

"The boy? Brent? Brent is your- oh boy. Really? That's cool!"

"My brother is dead, Christ. He took those stories with him. There should be no child. The woman died as well, and now it's just the child. No one but him and his companion, his brother-friend."

"Oh."

"He is out here, looking for his father, but my brother is dead. My brother, my brother!"

Selk gets up, turning towards the cameras, towards the sun rising. Merlin watches a camera man get behind Arthur. 

"He told me he was going to find her, the woman he loved, the woman he barely knew. I let him go, because I had watched him mourn for her, and I thought it would be a few days search and he'd be back. I found him, three weeks later, when we explored further to make new homesteads. The cave where he fell had water, and the plant grew there, it glowed from some subterranean magic, and lit up the whole cave, light. And there he was, floating face down. We turned him, and his eyes were open, and he was grown over by the plant and he was glowing, floating in the water and glowing."

"Oh," Christ says, unconcerned, building up a fire. 

"He was my best friend. We were never apart, the first time he came out he was lost and wandering, calling for me. I never came, and I didn't come in time that time either. He was my best friend."

"Right," Christ says, pulling flint out of his pocket. 

"I brought his body out here to bury him, and then the cave collapsed and I was stranded. I never thought to find his child, I never thought he had a child to find. I am not his father, I told him that. My brother is dead."

Merlin is surprised by the emotion in Arthur. Merlin knows the script, he's read the words, he's even heard Arthur say the words, but this is different. It's like Arthur's body is moving with them, and when he says the word 'dead' it's like he's been shout or wounded. He stands against the rising sun, spitting the words into the world as if he's purging his soul, as if he's hurt by the, as if he's hollowed out. 

"Cut! Okay, that's fine. Arthur, we'll have to re-record most of your dialogue in pick ups because the wind is fucking with the sound, but that's great. We've got enough. Thanks guys," the AD says, and everyone rushes around, the moment gone. 

Arthur comes over and nearly sits on Merlin, surprised to find him there. Merlin hops up but Arthur doesn't take the seat, he just looks away and watches the chaos of everyone taking the scenery away. 

"Alright?" Merlin asks.

"Yes," Arthur says. 

"Sounded emotional. It was good."

"Oh? Good. Great, good. I've never had a brother, I didn't know... but good. Where next?"

Merlin checks and sends him off, watching Arthur's back as he goes, struck for the first time that maybe it's not just the reviewers being plebs- maybe Arthur is a genuinly good actor. Merlin's surprised, more by the fact that he hadn't ever believed it that by the actual fact of it. 

The next day he sneaks peaks when Arthur's filming, but it's only snippets and bits of fights, nothing like the scene with the fire. Merlin is dissapointed, but he does get to watch Arthur slide down the mountain when he slips out of sequence, careening into Gwaine's camera man and the poor costume girl Gwaine's talking to, which is entertaining in itself. 

Arthur's better tempered, and he gets to eat lunch at normal times both days, so Merlin is surprised when he gets back to the hotel on Tuesday and Arthur comes into his room with him, collapsing face first onto his bed with a heart felt groan. 

"Still not going to give you a massage," Merlin says, shrugging out of his coat and depositing his file and blackberry and ipad on the desk, tossing his key into the box he's using to keep it safe. 

"MMph. What time's the call tomorrow?"

"Mordred's filming something with his Dad, I mean with Odin, in the morning, and the second crew are working on that fight sequence with the two boys..." Merlin clicks his tongue, running his finger over the schedule, "ah! You're not due on set till eight. Score, we get a lie in."

"Good. If I have to get up that early one more time I'm going to murder someone. Probably, let's be honest, you."

Merlin laughs and kicks the door shut, deciding Arthur's not going anywhere, then sits at the desk and opening his laptop. He opens his favourites and goes through the fansites Mithian told him were worth watching to check if the location had been leaked. 

"Oh look, yet another photoshop of a mark," he says, blushing a bit and feeling weird saying it. He still hasn't said anything to Arthur about his own mark. 

"Oh goodie. Who am I marrying this time?"

"Um... someone called... lovelydarkness145. Oh LJ, I do love you for your names. Ah, right. He's a thirteen year old boy. Have fun with that one, Arthur."

Arthur grunts and Merlin keeps scrolling. There are some behind the scenes photos from Arthur's last project, a gif of Arthur standing and throwing his arms up at a football game, showing those around him and himself in whatever's in his cup (Merlin laughs at that) and a set of icons from Arthur's first role in a TV show. 

"Anything else from the crazies?" Arthur asks, rolling about to extricate himself from his coat and probably covering Merlin's sheets in make up. 

"Nah, just you chucking water everywhere in football induced excitement."

"Huh? Oh, I remember that. Leon was very much not pleased with me for that," Arthur says. 

Merlin scrolls back up and sure enough, at Arthur's left shoulder, there's Leon. He doesn't look happy, no. Merlin clicks over to the next site. There's a fanfiction marked Arthain and NC-17. 

"Arthur is waiting in the green room to be interviewed by Gwaine Green, watching the current guest on the screen, and Gwaine keeps looking at the camera and licking his lips. Can Arthur contain himself?" Merlin reads aloud, laughing. 

"I hate them," Arthur says. 

"Oh, this one's sweet. It's a thing about meeting you. 'He was so nice, and he was really really patient. My sister was so pleased. He disability is really not obvious so it would have been excusable for Arthur to just brush her off as another grown up being a bit weird, as a fan of his children's series, but he was very patient and when he caught on that she was special he was all smiles and let her take photo after photo until she got the perfect shot'. D'awww, you're such a softie."

"Don't remember that. I met a downs kid, once, when I went to a school to talk about drugs, or maybe alcohol, or being an actor... something, anyway. Everyone was laughing at her. I remember her, but not this camera happy one."

"Nice," Merlin says sarcastically, laughing. 

It is nice, really. Arthur's quite sweet with the kids, according to testimonials on these sites. It's mostly the adults he loses his patience with. Merlin scrolls through a 'slash video' (he doesn't bother to click play) and another set of behind the scenes photos, then pauses, but it's only the location of Arthur's last project, not this one. He clicks to the next site. 

"Might order room service. Do you want anything?" Arthur asks, making himself at home. 

"Nope. Yes, no. Dunno," Merlin says. 

There's another fanfiction, this one marked gen, about one of Arthur's characters, then an old photo of Arthur beaming at the camera, looking sundrenched. A few photos of Arthur drunk, arm around Morgana Le Fey, one of him kissing Morgause's cheek (with the caption 'is Pendragon stealing his bodyguard's girlfriend?'). Merlin clicks to the last site. 

"Hmm, nothing here. No one has found you, you're safe," Merlin says, closing down the browser and swivelling to face Arthur, who's paging through the menu. 

Arthur throws the menu in Merlin's general direction and scowls. Merlin, not unused to such tantrum, picks up the menu and orders pasta and chips, figuring Arthur will either eat one or Merlin can put the pasta in the mini fridge as a snack. Arthur continues to scowl. 

"What? What's got your knickers in a twist?" Merlin asks, eventually, caving despite his judgement not to. 

"Nothing," Arthur says, archly, and falls gracefully back onto the bed. 

His t-shirt has a stretched neck, and it slips down, revealing the top of his mark. Merlin looks at it. It really is just like his own, down to the shade of lighter colour on one side of the line, and the small mole across one of the flecks. 

"Stop staring at it, Merlin. I know everyone's seen it. I'm actually kind of surprised the person who actually has a match hasn't come forwards. Or maybe they have and we've just brushed them off as a loony liar like the others. It seems wrong, that I can't identify my soul mate."

"You believe in all that, then? That the marks are soul-marks, that we're born two halves of one soul?"

"I'm not sure. My father and my mother weren't a match, but they loved one another. Though, with the rumours that she was gay, everyone questions how they loved one another. I think I do believe it, you know. That there's someone out there."

"My friends do. Gwen and Lance, I mean. They say it's different with one another, that there's a kind of symbiosis between them."

"But you're one of those rebels who thinks it's conservative and archaic, and we've evolved so far that we can match with anyone, regardless of their mark."

"No. We don't know a lot about the marks, though. Just that we're born with them, and that somewhere out there, someone else is born your twin, in a way."

"Mmm."

Merlin thinks it's the perfect opportunity to tell, and he's on the brink of doing so, but then room service arrives and Arthur claims the plate of chips as his and starts stuffing his face in a way that puts Merlin off. Or maybe he just wusses out, he's not entirely sure which.


	6. to Reveal, or not to Reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Arthur ever find out?

Arthur wakes up on Wednesday and stretches, luxuriating in not being tossed out of bed by Merlin before the sun is up. The sun's still not up, but he doesn't worry too much. It's still light, the snow-light almost sun. He rolls over and falls out of his bed with a thump, landing on the floor. It has underfloor heating and he stretches again, yowling happily, before picking himself up and taking himself off to the shower. 

When he finished and steps out again, not bothering to wrap himself in the towel, knowing Merlin won't come in without knocking to see if he's awake first, he's surprised to see someone sat on his bed and yelps. It's just Gwaine, though, and he's seen Arthur's naked butt enough times. 

"Morning, princess. Thought we could breakfast together, seeing as you have a normal morning time."

"It's still only about six thirty, Gwaine. You don't get up at six thirty. What's the favour?"

Arthur pulls a clean pair of boxers on, then changes his mind, remembering that he's doing more fighting scenes today, and discards them in exchange for briefs. 

"Nice look, Penny."

"You know very well, from experience, that running a lot in boxers is not a good idea. Don't you remember year ten? You were so set on showing Sarah Martin that you were a boxers man through and through that you played rugger in them, and you flashed the entire audience of girls."

"they loved it."

"The favour?"

"You're Merlin, I like the lad. I reckon he fancies me."

"Nope."

"I haven't asked anything yet!"

"You do not have my permission to bonk my PA, it would make things awkward. On your merry way."

"Like you could stop me."

"This again? Remember last time we disagreed over whether you should bonk my PA?"

Gwaine had done so against Arthur's wishes and nothing good had come of it. They'd eventually called a truce after a month of one upping each other with embarrassing photos, videos and stories. Arthur's pretty sure he came out on top. Gwaine must agree, because he scowls and leaves in a bad temper. 

Later, trying to keep his feet on the ice while he and Odin spar, crossing the lake and back again, Arthur spots Merlin watching him from the sidelines. Arthur grins and focusses harder, trying to keep to the steps Isolde has gone over with them, turning and ducking and punching and- Odin slips and falls into Arthur, bringing them both down. There's a crack and Arthur freezes. 

"Stop!" He yells, and everyone laughing and rushing towards them stops, "did anyone else hear that?"

There's general agreement that no, no one else heard anything, so they carry on. Later, once they're off the ice and warming up with tea and coats, a dog belonging to one of the costume assitants walks out, sniffing at their footprints, then yelps and races back, the ice cracking under it's feet. 

They all stare at the huge crack that leads out to where they were in amazement, and Gaius says they're not going to film there again. Arthur thinks 'too bloody right', but it is Gaius, so he's quite glad they've got most of what they need and can use a green screen for the rest. 

"Is Gaius still barmy?" Odin asks, quietly. 

"As ever," Arthur replies, and they take a moment to reflect on their good luck. 

Thursday drifts by in a series of fight scenes, the highlight of which is pushes Mordred off an outcrop onto a pile of matresses. Arthur spends most of the time standing around freezing his bollocks off while his stunt double does flips and throws himself all which way. 

On Friday he's woken by Merlin rolling him out of bed. He hits the floor with a thud and glares up at his PA, distinctly unhappy. 

"Let's have you, lazy daisy," Merlin says, cheerful, "it's half past four and you're due on set soon. Up!"

Merlin leaves and Arthur falls asleep on the warm floor, only to be woken by Merlin wafting coffee under his nose. He follows the cup out to the bus, and is glad for Merlin making him shove his feet into trainers and putting a coat on him when he gets out into the freezing air. He gulps at his coffee and it takes three cups to wake him, at which point he finds himself already in make up. 

"I didn't get my costume on," he mumbles to Lucille. 

"No worries, duck," she says in her French/Yorkshire accent, much mocked, "we've got you first this morning, according to that nice lad, Merlin."

"Good. Merlin knows," Arthur says, relieved; if Merlin put him here, here he should stay. 

He stumbles onto set five minutes late, and gets yelled at, even when he explains that it's Merlin's fault ('you imbecile, as if I'll believe that Merlin had anything to do with this, you look drunk! Shut up, I know you're not drunk, get on with it!').

By three pm he's knackered, and by the time they break for lunch at four thirty he's blue with cold and feeling almost faint from working hard and excercising on nothing but coffee and fumes. 

"Fuck I'm cold," he says to Dennis. 

"Me to," says the poor kid, teeth chattering. 

"Shower," Arthur says and claps him on the shoulder, guiding him to his trailer and his minder. 

Merlin's there when Arthur reaches his own trailer, with a thermos of hot soup and a couple of click start handwarmers. 

"Gaius gave you all an extra few minutes, so you have time to shower," Merlin tells him, throwing a towel over his head and rubbing roughly. 

Arthur comes out of Merlin's treatment, ears ringing, stumbling, but his hair is no longer frozen with sweat, so he smiles. He does shower quickly, his skin turning lobster red as he warms it too quickly and making make-up cross with him. 

They don't finish up until nine pm and Arthur stumbles back to Merlin's room, hoping Merlin will deal with things like food and warmth and tomorrows schedule. 

"Take your coat and shoes off," Merlin says, voice soft. 

Arthur does as he's told, but fumbles with his laces and can't just toe them off. Merlin, to his surprise, kneels and unties them, pulling them off one by one and rubbing his toes until he can feel them again. 

"Thanks," Arthur says. 

"Did that hurt you, saying thank you? It's fine. You look knackered, and frozen. I ordered some soup for you, and a cheese sandwich. I'm just going to get a towel," Merlin says. 

"Are you gonna rub my ears off again?" Arthur asks, lying back on the bed, leaving a damp spot as he thaws. 

Merlin does rub his ears off again, then gets out a hair dryer and dries the sweat and ice out of his hair while he eats soup and sandwiches. Merlin then starts up the computer and Arthur curls on the bed, listening to him snorting with laughter and reading out bits of fanfiction and annecdotes and a whole page of 'Pendragon secrets'. 

"Oh, bugger," Merlin says, after terrorising Arthur with the opening paragraph of a slash fiction story about him and Gwaine.

"What?" Arthur asks, feeling dozy and quiet, warm. 

"They found you. Your crazy fans are winging their way to you as we speak, I'll have to call Mithian. We'll probably have them with us tomorrow," Merlin says. 

"Oh, joy," Arthur says, too lazy and warm to put much feeling into it.

"Is it really bad, that they've found you?"

"I've worked on locations open to the public before," Arthur says, yawning, "it's not too bad. More work for security and I'll probably have to go say hello and take pictures and sign things or something. I'll have to cover up my mark before I go out, remind me in the morning, would you?"

"Why? They've already seen it," Merlin says, and he has a point.

"Well, if I keep it covered, they'll still just have those blurry photos. No need to feed the fire," Arthur says, word for word of the speech Mithian gave him. 

He listens to Merlin talking to Mithian and takes the phone to get a lecture on what a bad brother he is, and how much Morgana liked her birthday present, and how much he should not fly across the world for her birthday. He falls asleep somewhere between one lecture and another, and he must seem pathetic because Merlin doesn't wake him, fetching blankets and pillows from the cupboard and sleeping on the sofa. 

Merlin wakes on Saturday to the sound of someone breathing, and momentarily freaks out before remembering that Arthur fell asleep in his room last night. He looks across at the bed and Arthur's still there, curled up, fist by his face, mouth open, looking all of eight years old. Merlin hadn't had the heart to wake him and kick him out, and hadn't thought to sleep in Arthur's room. He gets up and showers quietly, then shakes Arthur awake. 

"Wha'?"

"Morning. Time to get up. I'm off to get coffee, try and get your shoes and things on," Merlin says. 

"Hng. Knock up Leon and Percy, yeah?" Arthur manages, rolling himself up in the duvet and burying himself. 

Merlin knocks up Leon and Percy on his way back from filling the thermos, and offers them coffee, which seems to make them his friends for life. 

"You're a god among men," Percy says. 

"Mithian called us, so we're all briefed and ready. ever done anything like this, Merlin?" Leon asks, more awake and perky than anyone should be so early. 

"Like what?"

"With fans," Leon says. 

"No," Merlin goes for, which is probably the right answer. Arthur hurries into the hallway as they approach, making grabby hands for his coffee. 

"This is going to fun," Leon says, sarcastically, patting Arthur on the back. 

Merlin's tense and apprehensive, but it seems no one's found the hotel, so there's just the usual crowd of actors and crew milling around waiting for the bus. It's not until they reach the location that Merlin spots the crowds of people. They're not huge crowds, but they're big enough. The actors all have body guards with them today and they're escorted through the throng of people and behind the barriers, people reaching and calling for them. 

Merlin hurries in the wake of Percy, Leon and Arthur, keeping a cap Arthur's given him pulled down over his face. There's almost an audible pop when they make it behind the barriers, but Leon and Percy don't pause, chivvying Arthur all the way to the costume trailer then standing guard outside. Merlin sits on the sofa and goes over Arthur's schedule for the morning while Arthur's being dressed, then they're marched to make up. 

It's not till mid-day that people really start arriving. Whole flocks of them, yelling at Arthur and the other actors. There are crew and security all around, keeping them back and away, quieting them, making sure they don't film what they shouldn't. Arthur calls Merlin over at about three. 

"Come on, put the cap back on unless you want to be all over their websites and come with me. You can hold stuff," Arthur says tightly. 

Merlin trails after him, hiding behind the brim of his cap. Arthur's very polite and he laughs and chats with his fans, signing things and passing pictures and gifts to Merlin. Merlin catches a glimpse of fanart of Arthur, a very risque picture of him in ladies underwear, a photo manipulation of him as a muskateer, a box of chocolates with a Forrest Gump quote on the top, three caps with different cities on, a t-shirt with a picture of Gwaine and Arthur kissing on it, and a thong. He giggles at the last and the fans try to question him. 

"Leave the poor bloke alone, guys, he'll faint with embarrassment. He's not used to having your adoration the way I am," Arthur says, posing for them to photograph. 

Leon and Percy are also there, arms empty, faces blank and focussed. Someone throws a flower at Leon's face, but he barely even blinks. Then a teenager pulls Arthur's coat and shirt away from his collar bone and camera's click, and Leon and Percy leap into action. Leon pulls Arthur back and Percy starts confiscating cameras, ignoring cries of 'but we didn't even get to see it', and it's over. 

The scenes take longer to shoot, because they have to reset several times when fans make too much noise, and Arthur spends a lot of time keeping his back to them. He's tenser and less willing to laugh and mess around as well, which Merlin thinks is a shame, as Arthur seemed to enjoy himself up till now with the other actors. 

By the time they wrap, three hours late, it's ten pm and Arthur is very bad tempered. They have to go through the fans to reach the bus for one reason or another and Merlin pulls his cap low once more. 

"Arthur!"

"Oh my god, it's him, it's him."

"Those twats earlier, it's their fault..."

"Can I get a photo with you, Arthur? Please?"

"Look! We drew you!"

"Mr Pendragon, sir?"

At the last Arthur pauses and turns to crouch by two young boys, one of who spoke the latter in a heavily accented voice. 

"Hello," Arthur says, smiling, "what can I do for you?"

The younger boy says something high pitched and excited in something slavik, possibly Romanian. 

"Can we picture you?" the older asks. 

Arthur nods and moves closer, letting the two boys stand either side and their mother take a picture, then he gets up and moves off again. 

"he stopped for those two, why not us?"

"Arthur!"

"I bet their Mum was just using them to get close because he's so hot."

"Ich liebe dich, Artur!"

At last they reach the bus and the voices are shut out. Percy stays by the doors, holding on to the bar and bending to keep and eye on the crowd, while Leon stands in the aisle by Arthur. Mordred's the only other person on the bus, his own bodyguard sitting beside him looking stern. 

Arthur throws his shoes at the wall in Merlin's room and throws himself violently onto the bed. Merlin gets his coat off and sits beside him, absently rubbing the tension from his shoulders. Arthur quiets, the mutter of obscenities slowing, and relaxes under Merlin's hands. 

"You're giving me a massage."

"Mm," Merlin agrees, realising that he is. 

"It's okay," Arthur says, grudgingly, rolling his shoulders and sitting up. 

"Food?"

"Too tired. Can I sleep here again?"

"There'll be rumours. And I don't want to take the sofa."

"So take the bed. No, you're right. That's weird. Sorry I suggested it."

"It is weird, but maybe I don't mind," Merlin says, and then Arthur's looking at him for far too long and for a second Merlin thinks he's going to kiss him, but then it's over and Arthur's getting up and leaving. 

Merlin goes to sleep in the cold bed, mind thrumming with the idea of going to sleep with Arthur's body by his side, unable to stop thinking about it.

Arthur wakes up in his own room on Sunday and he's confused for a moment, but then he remembers that a.) it's Sunday, so that's why Merlin hasn't woken him up and b.) he nearly kissed Merlin yesterday and perhaps Merlin noticed, so maybe that's why Merlin hasn't woken him up. He showers and gets properly dressed for the first time since he arrived before going to knock on Merlin's door to find out which it is. 

"What? Why are you waking me up at seven? It's Sunday," Merlin says, scowling, keeping the door ajar and not letting Arthur in. 

"Um, nothing," Arthur says, deciding it was probably a and not b.

"Great. Go do nothing somewhere else. My flight's not till this afternoon, so I don't have to be up," Merlin says and shuts the door again. 

Arthur goes and bugs Gwaine instead, making him get up and go down to breakfast with him. 

"How come you haven't interviewed me?" Arthur asks once he's eaten his fill. 

"Because I interviewed the star, Mordred, instead. He's a Druid, did you know?"

"I did. He showed me his markings. He has this amazing, intricate pattern all the way across his back and his mark is beautiful."

"Are you in love?"

"No. Shut up."

"I didn't interview you because I'll do it in LA while you're there, when you have some free time. I wanted to get as much stuff as I could here, but you I can interview anywhere. Not like it takes much for me to get you talking or anything. You're easy."

"Gee, thanks, mate."

They sip their coffee in companionable silence, then Gwaine goes back to bed and Arthur goes to try Merlin again. This time he's let into the room, but Merlin's clearly not up properly, yet. He's talking on the phone saying 'yes, Mum... no, Mum... yes Mum... honestly, Mum' and so on, pacing back and forth. Arthur opens the curtains. 

Merlin, caught in the morning light, is beautiful. He's got no shirt on, and his eyes catch the light, and his skin almost glows in the still, cold light of the snow. He turns towards Arthur and as he paces, his pyjama trousers slip down, revealing the tops of his hips, and there, curled against the bone, peeking out above the waist band is... 

Arthur lunges forwards and tugs the waist band down. 

"Ah! Arthur, what the fuck are y-" Merlin yells, then freezes. 

Arthur presses his thumb to the mark, to his mark, to his mark on Merlin's skin. He rubs at it, testing if it's ink, if it's real, but there are things that aren't in the photo- the shades of the lines, the mole, the freckle in the centre. This is his mark. On Merlin. His mark is on Merlin. 

"Mum, I have to go, Arthur just pulled down my trousers... no, you- yes! Argh!... you're so- yes, yes of course I love you. Bye. Love you, bye. Um, Arthur... yeah, I was... I was gonna tell you..." 

"Yeah? When?"

"Well, when I met you. That's why I applied for the job. Was shocked senseless when I got an interview, I have abosultely no experience. And then you picked me! I was so surprised! And I hated you, so I decided not to tell you."

"So you weren't going to tell me?"

"I was! Just not then. And then... I nearly did, the other night, but I didn't. And I dunno, I just... what was I meant to say? I'm the creepy guy who applied for the job because I saw a photo of your mark?"

"That would have been a start!"

"Yeah, right. Like you'd even have believed it! Do you believe it even now?"

"I know what my mark looks like."

Merlin's eyes go wide and he looks down at his hip, pressing his own thumb to it, then he looks up and he looks almost as shocked as Arthur. 

"It's the same, then? It's really the same?" Merlin asks. 

"Yes! I thought that was the point!"

"Well, yeah. I know it's... well, very very similar, but I haven't exactly had a chance to examine you!"

"Fuck, Merlin. You have my mark under your skin."

"How come it's yours? Maybe you have my mark under your skin!"

Arthur stares at Merlin's hip. He can't do this, can't deal with this. He just isn't quite able to get his head round it. 

"Pack your things. We have a week off from each other. I expect you to come back after that, and we'll... decide then. What to do. Jesus, Merlin. What were you thinking?"

"I mostly wasn't thinking anything except oh look, a famous person is my match! And then Lance suggested-"

"They knew? When you were in bed with me? They knew? On the phone?"

For some reason that's worse. That's worse than anything- that someone else knew before he did. He leaves Merlin to pack and goes to roust Leon out of bed, interrupting his morning phone sex with Morgause, and makes him pack for him. Leon doesn't complain too much, but he does insist on talking to Merlin before they leave, which Arthur thinks is disloyal of him but allows. Somehow Merlin's got under everyone's skin, not just Arthur's, where he's got literally. Arthur rubs at his collar bone all the way to LA, not sure if he's trying to keep Merlin there or rub him out.


	7. A documentary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Arthur are apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the long wait, and for the length and slightly dry nature of this update. I wanted to get back to the marks, and I wanted some background, and I'm clumsy with it. I hope you enjoy anyway!

Merlin gets off the plane in London, and it’s raining. It’s kind of a let down, after a week hanging out with film stars, in the picturesque (though very cold) snow, after traveling first class and staying in his rather smart hotel room, to step into the busy airport and be surrounded by people and England. It’s nice that no one is trying to talk to him in Romanian, though. He spots Lance and waves. 

“Merlin! Gwen, I’ve got him… no, he wandered over here… by the travel money desk… yeah, I see you,” Lance says, walking towards Merlin and waving to Gwen as he reaches him, “Hello, M.”

“Yeah, hi. You know how this was all your idea?”

“Yes?”

“I hate you.”

Lance laughs and hugs him, then Gwen comes up and screams, hugging him too, and Merlin nearly falls over between them. 

“Such a long time! Merlin, you’ll never believe, oh tell him, Merlin!” Gwen’s saying, babbling, laughing.   
Merlin hugs her and smiles, glad that they’re here to meet him and glad to see them, though it hasn’t been long since they saw one another. A measly three weeks, really. 

“Tell us everything, and I mean _everything_ , about Pendragon,” Gwen says, letting go and steering them out to the car. 

Merlin does. He starts with how much of a prat he is, works his way through almost admiring his acting and his way with Mordred, through to how bad it was when Arthur just stared at him, at his hip, at his mark. 

“Oh boy. I remember when we found out we matched, we were thrilled,” Lance says.

“Yeah, but Gwen hadn’t caught a glimpse of your mark, all but stalked you and then kept it a secret. The rubbishest thing was that I was just starting to like the bloke, and he was coming round to me, I think,” Merlin says, slumping on the sofa. 

Lance pats his knee and turns on the TV, flicking through channels, while Gwen hums and looks thoughtful. Merlin lets his head thunk back. 

“Wow, gee thanks, guys. Such good advice. So many ideas!” he says. 

“I’m thinking,” Gwen says. 

“I’m not. No idea, mate,” Lance says, “Oh, speak of the devil- look, a documentary on Soulmates.”

“The Soul-Marked, and what It means to be one of the few. Catchy title,” Merlin says.

“Want to watch?” Lance says.

“Go on, then,” Merlin says, leaning sideways to grab the packet of Doritos on the table and settling in. 

**”Hello, and welcome to the program. My name is Jed Wright, and I have been with my partner for going on ten years now. We’re not a match, and I am going to go into people’s homes, try out the tests out there and generally explore the world of the Soul mark. I will be talking to couples who both are and aren’t matches, and I will be looking for my own match, to see if there’s any traction in the old stories. Before I do any of that, though, I’m going to go to the British Library, and have a look at some of the old texts, seeing what these stories are, where they come from and how they wormed their way into our culture.”  
The camera pans over the front of the British Library and then zooms out to get a shot of Wright jogging up the   
steps. **

“His arse is lovely,” Gwen says.

“Lance’s is better,” Merlin says. 

“Mm,” Gwen answers, eyes glazing over slightly.

** “I’m here with the head librarian, Geoffrey Monmouth. Geoffrey, can you tell me more about the texts you’ve selected, here?”

The camera pans over two books and an old roll of paper, and rests on four long, flat papyrus bits all behind glass. 

“These are the Scrolls of the Soul, and are from Egypt about…. Oh, 3000 BC? There abouts. They were written for a pharoe, and are the first written record of soul marks that we’ve found. I stress that this is written records, we have evidence that they were part of stories that are older.”

“How do you get records of stories, if not through writing?”

“There’s pictorial evidence as far back as the stoneage, but there are also accounts of old stories and histories, recorded many years after the stories were around. So it’s still a written record, but the story is older.”

“Right. But this is the first time anyone wrote about them?”

“Yes. There are five scrolls, each written on a different date, of, we think, the same year. It’s hard to be certain, but we’re pretty sure these were all from the same year. The first is simply an account of a dream, the second is an interpretation of that dream, but the third is the one you’ll be really interested in. In this dream, the pharoe came across his double, his doppleganger if you like, though that is a concept far newer than he. The interpretation mentions soul marks, soul mates, as a possible meaning behind this, and the third is an exploration of this. The fourth and fifth go into other aspects of the dream and probably won’t interest you unless you have a fascination with grain ledgers.”

“So it’s the third we want to look at, then.”

“Yes.”

The camera zooms in on the scrolls and Geoffrey, with gloves on, moves the third glass so Wright can lean over it and points to a hieroglyph, which the camera zooms in on.

“The Egyptians didn’t chronicle things the same way we did, so we can’t translate it like we do between languages, but this is the hieroglyph for soul, and this is the hieroglyph for letter, or mark. We interpret it as   
mark, because it’s been called that in other documents, close to the time, but for all we know the Ancient Egyptians called them soul letters. Unlikely, but possible,” Geoffrey says, running his finger over a few more characters, camera following, “This is the really interesting bit. Look, this is the glyph for pharoe, and then soul, so the pharoe’s soul, and then here, this is the glyph for son.”

“For… wait, for son? As in child?”

“Yes. There are other references to this further on, but this is the first.”

“So the pharoe’s soul match…”

“Was his son. Yes.” **

“Wow, incest,” Lance says, squinting at the screen. 

Merlin laughs, concentration broken.

“shh!” Gwen says.

** “It’s not just here, there are other documents, but this is the clearest. Not just Egypt, either. The idea that a soul mark connects you with a purely sexual partner is fairly modern. Now, I don’t know if that’s because we’ve evolved and it now is, or if we just have a different interpretation, but the ancient Egyptians certainly saw the bond as more than simply sexual.”

“Then what was the bond?”

“If you look further down, this glyph is the character for ‘love’. Or, as close as matters. And here we have a passage… it’s widely interpreted as meaning ‘to come into the centre’, or ‘to enter into the heart’. The soul mark, by this evidence anyway, was a way of empathising, sympathising, bonding. What it was for? Who knows. There seems no biological imperative there, just a symbol for love.”

“Wow. I now have a hundred questions to ask, but I think the medical practise is more the place to ask them. What else have you got to show me?”**

“I like that Wright lets the experts do the talking. I hate when we get a glimpse of the expert, then we get the summery of it from the presenter,” Gwen says. 

“Yeah, but I bet they cut out a lot of waffle and technical stuff,” Lance says, “And also, there wasn’t much there for us to misunderstand. Sometimes it’s nice to have a nice little summery, in case you weren’t paying   
attention.”

“Shh,” Merlin says. 

**”… and is from Greece, so much later. Almost modern, really. It was written by a monk, and it’s a treatise on the importance of marks. This we can interpret language to language,” Geoffrey’s saying.   
He unrolls the scroll carefully. 

“Usually we’d keep it flat, but- so you see here? This passage says ‘I have documented the marks of every novice and monk, and only found one match, and that’s between monk and a novice. The marks match almost exactly, though it’s hard to be certain as the novice has some scarring’.”

“So this monk was doing a study?”

“Of sorts. There was a problem with… sodomy… in the order, and he’s making a written report to be sent to his boss, really. He tells the two that they aren’t to have anything to do with one another, and doesn’t tell them that they are a match, but still, it happens. Then another novice arrives, and he matches someone there and the monk _does_ tell them, and it happens. Here is an interesting passage ‘they connected, they just connected’.”

“So is this where the stories come from, that we ‘connect’ with our soul marked match?”

“Yes, more or less. It’s the first written record we have of the phrase that now is simply a cliché, and we can more or less trace the growth of the idea’s popularity from this document. There’s another letter, and then a book, a chapter in a biblical interpretation, and they all reference this monk.”

“Fascinating. What’s next?”

“Next is a book from the early seventeen hundreds. Printing has only recently become big, so this is one of the first mass produced texts on Soul Marks, and is the first book we can find with the sole subject of the soul, pardon the pun.”

“It’s called… the bodily marks that set us apart from the animals. Phew, bit of a mouthful?”

“Ever seen the full title of Mol Flanders? Though, they’re not connected. It’s called that because the idea at the time was that it was a God given thing, like reason. The introduction, or ‘letter to the lay reader’ as it’s called, is all about the church and the bible and the importance of marks to personal religion.”

“Okay, so it’s a religious text?”

“No, actually. It’s written by a doctor and is aimed at, as the intro suggests, the common reader. That would be someone educated to a certain point, because they have to be able to read, but not educated beyond that point. That’s not to say this wasn’t read by the upper-middle and upper classes, it probably was- it’s referenced in several places that suggests it was read widely and across class lines. But the writer meant it for the lower middle classes- tradesmen, mostly- who would have had a more personal religion.”

“What does he have to say to us?”

“Well, I’m not going to tell you who wrote it, but you’ll probably guess when I answer that. He lays out the common misconceptions. That’s the first half of the book. He goes into the old wives tales and warns against such things as trying to remove the marks, which was something that happened.”

“Why?”

“We’re not a hundred percent certain, but this doctor talks about the stories of the devil. The mark was given not by god, but the devil, as a way of persuading you to give in to bliss. Another reason that the intro goes into church and God and religious meaning. While the common reader wouldn’t have been a great religious scholar, he would have gone to church. There’s a section here explaining that the marks are not exclusive. This doctor at least believed that you could find a mate outside of the marking.”

“Ah!”

“Have you got it?”

“Yes. I know who he is.”

“In the second half of the book he goes into why he thinks the marks are part of us, and he goes into the reasons for sticking with a match. He’s probably not spectacularly accurate in terms of medicine and biology, but many of his ideas are still current though. For example, he thinks one reason we have the marks is a sort of Darwinism.”

“That those who find their match are marked as the fittest, as it were.”

“Yes. Now, this isn’t social Darwinism, so he doesn’t mean that those of you who have found your matches are better than those who haven’t. No, he means that it’s an imperative, to search. To look. And that the imperative fulfilled is a mark of fitness, and only those with good genes will manage. That’s something that this doctor is famous for pioneering. He’s the first person who says that soul marked matches are the ones who can conceive.”

“Is he right?”

“I don’t know. He may have been. At the time it was bad manners to be open about whether you were soul mark matched or not, so it would have been difficult to study.”

“And what about the Druids?”

“Ah. Yes. I do have a document for you to see, but I can’t let the camera in. It’s something we’ve been leant by a tribe in Romania, and it’s a Druidic text from early 5000 BC. I said that the Soul Scrolls were the first written record, but the Druids were documenting the effects of them far earlier, as it were. The old family trees, lines of succession and power charts of the Druids can be read as a sort of chart of soul matches. Would you like to see?”

“Yes.”

The Camera zooms in on a shut door, then a bench, then goes black. The adds come on. **

“Wow. I thought this was going to be a sort of in-bedroom exposé, not an academic thing,” Lance says. 

“You sound disappointed. Were you hoping for porn?” Gwen says, laughing when Lance throws a cushion at her. 

“This is so weird. Did you know about the children thing, Gwen?” Merlin asks.

“We did a bit on soul bonding not being sexual in the first year of uni,” Gwen says, “but no, I didn’t think you could match with a family member.”

“Is this helping you work out your Arthur-angst?” Lance says, “oh! Oh! Tell us about meeting Gwaine Green, actually!”

“Yes!” Gwen says enthusiastically. They both stare at him.

“You’re frightening. He was nice, a bit barmy, mostly like he is on TV.

“Is that all you can say? You met THE Gwaine Green, and all you can say is that he was nice?” Lance asks.

“He eats more than me,” Merlin says, “Look, it’s back. Shh.”

There’s a brief re-cap, then the camera switches to Wright. 

** “That was fascinating, but you’ll have to wait until later to hear about it. So in ancient Egypt the idea that soul mates were platonic was generally accepted, and Greece is where we get the ideas of connection from. Have you all guessed who the book was by? Doctor Gaius, of course, pioneer of all Soul mark medical studies. If you want to read that book, by the way, it is in print! Well, they’ve redone it, but the text is available, on Amazon. We’re done at the British Library now, next stop- the Gellers.”  
The camera switches to an in-car view and the motorway speeds past. Wright turns to face the camera in the back. 

“I’m on my way to the Gellers, a couple up in Yorkshire. They’ve agreed to talk to me about their match, which is a soul marked match. I’m going to see if they can tell me anything about the connection ideas, and I’m going to see what they think of the Ancient Egyptian’s idea that it can be platonic.”  
The camera changes again, to following him up a path of a semi detached bungalow, watching him press the buzzer. 

“Mrs Geller is a school teacher, and Mr Geller is retired. They’ve had two children together and have a third from Mr Geller’s previous marriage. They’ve been together for forty years.”

The door opens, revealing a pudgy woman in leggings and a big, woolly jumper. When she sees Wright and the camera she positively beams and ushes them in.

“I’m Jed Wright, and you must be Mrs Geller.”

“Yes, yes. Come on in! We’ve been expecting you. Cup of tea?” 

“Yes please, that would be great,” Jed says, stepping into the house. 

“What about you, love?” Mrs Geller says, addressing the camera man. 

The camera switches to Mrs Geller, Jed and what must be Mr Geller (a man who looks a lot older than his misses, and much skinnier, sat beside her on the sofa) sitting around a coffee table with tea and biscuits. 

“So, I’ve just been to the British Library to have a look at the origin of some of the stories around soul marks. The Greeks, you’ll be unsurprised to hear, were the first to talk about the connection between the soul marked. What can you tell us about that connection, Mr Geller? Am I correct that you’ve been married before?”

“Yes, a long time ago now. I did love her, let me say that upfront. It wasn’t a case of meeting my soul match and deciding that was that. I fell in love with Ruby, but only after Lucy had gone.”

“Oh, I am sorry. I didn’t know,” Wright says. 

“She didn’t die, sir. She ran away to Havana. And I met Ruby here.”

“Can you tell me if you’ve felt a difference, in terms of that connection?”

“I’m always connected to Ruby. Always know where she is, know how she’s doing. It’s a bit like reading one another, but we can do it without being in the same room. Yeah, it’s different. Part of it is time, though. I’ve been married forty years now, to Ruby. We know one another pretty well.”

“Aye, he’s right. There’s a connection alright, like those Greek fellows say, but whether it’s the mark or not? I dunno. Our Elle just met her match and she isn’t sure about it at all, but she’s only a lass, still. Isn’t ready for the overwhelming eternity of it, I reckon.”

“Our Elle isn’t ready for a relationship that lasts more’n a month, Rubes.”  
They laugh, sharing a joke about ‘our Elle’ that no one else is in on. 

“Do you believe in it, then? The soul match stuff?” Wright asks. 

“Yeah, reckon I do. It’s not just the connection, it’s like a deeper kind of knowing that I reckon comes from that. Like we knew each other in a last life and for many lives to come. Like it’s eternal, though we’re not, you know?”

“Yeah, he’s right. Hasn’t he got a way with words? Yeah, it feels like that. I reckon we can fall in love without, but it’s just the love of one lifetime. It’s not to disparage, but it’s like our souls have known each other for lives immemorial.”

The camera zooms in on the couple looking soppy, then switches to the front of the house. 

“That’s a theory about being reborn, and it’s believed by a lot of people. I think it’s a nice way of looking at it, because it doesn’t cheapen non soul matched love, it just expands on it. I’ll be exploring the ideas of reincarnated souls later, but first let’s look at a more commonplace theory. For this, I’m heading to the JR in Oxford.”

Another in car shot.

“We’re headed up to the John Randcliffe, which has a world renowned research fellowship working on soul marks and the biology of them. This is where I ask about the Anciet Egyptians and find out if we’ve evolved, or if it’s just a cultural norm.”

The camera switches to the outside of a big building, then follows Wright up in a lift, then down, then up, then down. 

“I’m lost. I have no idea… are we on floor two? It said two last time, but that was where we got in. Let’s try this one.”

The camera follows Wright along a corridor, then zooms on a sign saying ‘teaching suit’. 

“Ah! This is it. They work out of here, the fellowship is run by one of the professors. Or the professor. Right, well, in we go.”

A woman, dark and beautiful, welcomes them and gives them tea, and again the camera is left on Wright and the professor drinking tea and eating biscuits.

“You are professor Mandy Harkin, is that right?”

“Correct. I run the medical program here, so I basically am in charge of all the idiot student doctors and interns and medical students. I love my job and I love teaching, but young men with a bit of a God complex? Oh boy, there are some egos and upsets.”

“And the fellowship… sorry, I haven’t written the name down.”

“It’s the Pendragon Fellowship programme, as the funds come from a trust set up by Ygraine Pendragon. The current research, on soul marks, has been going on for three years now, and we’ve had the same doctors on it from the beginning.”

“So you’re the experts on the marks?”

“Yes, we are.”

“In Ancient Egypt, I have recently discovered, soul marked matches between family members were common place.”

“Ah. The incest question.”

“Yes, that little question there.”

“Well, there’s nothing biological that we’ve ever found about the marks. There’s nothing…. Exchanged between the two parties. The marks seem, and the research in this is so difficult, but they _seem_ to match two people who were always very compatible. There’s nothing that they do, except… somehow know.”

“So what you’re saying is that there’s nothing medical behind all this?”

“Nothing that we’ve found. But, and this is a big but, we’ve never come across a soul match that hasn’t been successful. I have come across a divorce, but that was a unique case where there was mental health and things involved. That’s another thing, we do come across people who are soul mates who aren’t sexual. Children, the mentally disabled, a-sexual people.”

“So the ancient Egyptians were correct? The idea that soul mate is the perfect sexual mate is a cultural thing?”

“Well, like I said, there’s definitely compatibility, chemistry if you like. Often a strong draw, sometimes even love. But nothing biological, like I said.”

“Right. Well.”

The camera zooms out, leaving them talking, and then switches to the car.**

“I’m bored, turn it off,” Lance says. 

“I swear you have ADHD, Lance, your attention span is- ooh! Friends! I haven’t watched Friends in years!” Gwen says as Lance flicks through the channels. 

They stay on Friends and Merlin leans back, thinking and thinking. 

Loving Arthur, according to Wright so far, does not have to be the only option. 

“Leon!” Arthur bawls, throwing the remote at the wall between their rooms. 

The hotel is much less nice than the one in Romania, and the walls are thinner. Arthur knows he heard. 

“Leon, get in here!” he yell again. 

Leon pokes his head round the door, glaring. 

“Arthur, it’s half past eleven and I’ve been up since six, and I’m talking to Morgause.”

“You’ll be happy about it. This bloody… bastard… fucking Wright! How dare he say that there’s nothing… that   
there’s no… it’s not just compatability. Fucking crock of shit! Shh, shh. It’s back on.”

Arthur sits closer to the TV, cross legged on the desk chair, and waves Leon quiet.

“Right, because _I’m_ the noisy one. Do you need me here?”

“Yes. I employ you and pay your wages, shush and watch.”

“Morgause, sorry… you heard?... yeah.”

“Shh!”

**”So, I’ve seen the documents, we’ve talked about the stories, we’ve looked at the medicine and we’ve talked to a couple. Where next, you might ask? I’m going to head south, this time, and talk to a couple who are _not_ soul bonded, but have been married for nearly seventy years. Let’s see what you think of these two.”

The camera switched to the car. **

“Seventy years. Seventy years! Ugh, I can’t believe this man. What is he _on_?”

“Arthur, careful. Me and Morgause-“

“Shh!”

**”We’re driving down to Devon today, and we’re going to talk to Mr and _Mr_ Jameson. Now, two hundred years ago our king discovered that his soul match was a man. It’s not something that had never happened before, but it is something that had not yet happened to an English monarch. The rules clearly state that the monarch’s mate must be soul marked, despite age, ethnic background, or any other considerations. Even gender. So he changed the law that said a monarch could not marry someone of the same gender, and changed the political face of homophobia for the future. Quite something, don’t you think? But back to Mr and Mr Jameson, they got married in their early twenties, after meeting over drinks celebrating a long leave, both of them fought in the second world war and they’ve been together since.”  
The camera changes to show a neat, detached, two story cottage and follows Wright up the steps to knock on the door. An old, stooped man comes out and gestures him inside.

“I’m Mr Jameson, my husband is in the kitchen. He’s making gallons of tea, he always over estimates. Do come into the lounge.”

Again there’s a wide shot of Wright drinking tea, with the two Jamesons. The second is upright and looks military in his bearing. 

“I didn’t have a chance to mention your professions, so would you tell the audience what it is you did?” Wright says.

“I built boats. I build ‘em for the army, way back after the war ended and another had begun,” says the first Jameson, “And Harry stayed in after we de-mobbed, made Colonel before he got out.”

“Kenneth is always boasting,” Harry says, sipping his tea, “he would have made it higher up if he hadn’t had an urge to make floating things.”

“I enjoyed making floating things, I’ll have you know.”

“Thank you, gentlemen. Now, I want to talk to you about soul marks. Is it correct that you are not a soul marked match?”

“That’s right. Kenneth actually met his, once. A buddy, in the War to end all wars as they called it. He got shot to pieces the day before the armistice.”

“Ah, Tommy. He was a good lad, barely seventeen. He just couldn’t eve keep his head.”

“That’s dreadful, you old bat. He literally lost his head, you see,” Harry says, and Kenneth laughs. 

“So you never felt the need to find your soul mate?”

“Mm, yes, no. It’s intriguing to us all, but it’s hardly science. I think that the Druids have it right- soul match being only one of many forms of bonding. I know that Ken is my soul mate, and I don’t buy into any of that crap about reincarnation. I’ve known this man since he was a gangly teenager who couldn’t hold his drink, and I’ve known him as a young man, terrified and nervous on his wedding day, and as an old soldier with nightmares and as a middle aged man with a belly and bad taste jokes. I’ve known his every face, every smile, every sadness, and I’ve shared it. There isn’t anything deeper than that, not in the end. In the end it’s just us, facing eternity, with whatever we got from life. What I got was Ken, Ken’s love, Ken’s heart. I treasure that.”

“Harry’s my best friend, always has been, always will be. Soul marks are one thing, but this is another. We love one another, no one will tell us different.” **

“Oh, they’re so sweet,” Leon says. 

“I can’t say anything to that, mate. Look at them. Oh, and adverts. Great. Imagine that- seeing a war together and then living a whole life, with the same one person.”

“Isn’t that the goal? The aim in life?”

“For some. Sorry about earlier, about being a bitch about you and Morgause.”

“You were a complete bitch, but you’re forgiven. What’s it about, Merlin? You feel that? A soul bond, or whatever?”

“Dunno. It’s like they said- there’s nothing medical going on. It’s just a mark, a birth mark. I dunno what the   
importance is, I suspect he’ll only really find out if he goes down the Druid’s route, and he can’t get very far if he isn’t one, can he?”

“Do you think he’ll talk about the Druids?”

“Yeah. He saw some book or family tree or something of theirs in the Brittish Library, but couldn’t show it and didn’t talk about it. I suspect that’s what’s coming next. But I don’t know how far he’ll get, they’re insular to the extream.”

“Is this helping, with Merlin?”

“No. It’s frustrating, I was just… I liked him. I trusted him.”

“I reckon it just got away from him, you know? Things do, sometimes. They just escape you and you end up somewhere thinking why did I tell that lie? But it’s too late.”

“Oh, they’re back.”

“I’ll shut up, then.”

“Yup.”

**”I’m heading West, now, and I’m going to cross the border to Wales. North Wales is my destination, I’m heading to the Druids’ Library, which isn’t a library at all but is a commune of elders. I don’t know how much they’ll tell me, but I hope to learn something. At the Brittish Library I saw the Words of the Wise, a written document from early 5000 BC charting the important Druid families, their bloodlines and their marks, and the matches they found. I learnt a lot about the blood line and how the heir is not the oldest son, but the boy of the father who has the strongest soul-bond. As we all know, there are perfect matches, half matches and then there are those who are not perfect but exact, not a wit of difference. It is these matches who inherit. The mention of soul marks as Dragon Fire was there also, which is something I know nothing about, the Druid people don’t share that. What Dragon Fire is and what it has to do with soul marks, I hope to find out.”

The camera switches to a big, open plan room with heavy, dark wood furniture. There’s a man sat, grey robe about him, bald but with a silver tattoo snaking up his neck and over his ear. He’s wearing a big silver ring and doesn’t react to Wright entering. 

“Excuse me, I have an appointment with Alator?”

“That is I.”

“You agreed to talk to me, about soul marks? I’m making a documentary and-“

“I remember. Sit, and I will tell you a story.”

Wright sits and the camera pans around the room before resting on Alator. 

“I am Alator, son of Aderyn, son of Aneirin. We are strong soul marks. My son, Angharad, is a blood mark and will not be of our line. My daughter, Glydwr, is soul bonded and will be my heir. That is a line, that is lineage. Our soul marks create that. My daughter is heir to my power, my healing and my knowledge, she will be given my place as head of a family. That is lineage.”

“What is a blood-“

“You do not ask questions, not here. You learn to listen. Open your mind, and listen. My son is blood marked- the tattoo he was given as a family heirloom is what connects him with the other side of his coin, his Cadowyn, who is his briodferch. His bride. Their line will be a blood line, which will run beside my own. We are still family- we are knife-marked as one. The silver you see on my skin is on his also, the patterning repeats. His blood line and my soul line will all be knife marked as one. The blood line is not submissive to the soul line, but the soul line inherits.”

“Thank you.”

“My story. There was a Dragon-man, by the name of Kilgarah. He was red, a blood mark, and he was Wales. England was named Lloegr, and he was white, a soul mark. These two great warriors met time and time again on the border, defending lands they claimed their own. They marked the land their own ways- Kilgarah with his blood mark, Lloegr with his soul mark- and so they build their armies. Their clashes were renowned and always dark and dreadful, and people began to fear the marks, and to cut silver into their skin as a sign that they were not going to fight. Among these men was one, Emrys, or Merlin, or Ambrosious, or Myrddin in the pure form.”

“We know of Merlin, our legends-“

“Are wrong. This is the true story. Learn to hear, Jed Wright. Myrddin was among the silver people, the knife marked. His soul was bound to your prince Arthur, your King Arthur, our Arthur, but Arthur was married to Gwenhowyvar, and he did not know of Myrddin. The latent soul bond was forged in Dragon Fire, and it gave Myrddin the power that no one else had- the power to defend against Kilgarah and Leogr. He went one night and stood upon the hill below which they were fighting, and raised his heavens to smite the ground, rending the earth. The two warriors fell, deep into the land, and it closed above them. They fight there still, England and Wales, blood marked and soul marked, but we on the surface follow Myrddin- we unite with a knife- mark and refuse the fight. That is our story.”

“Did Arthur ever meet Myrddin?”

“Oh yes, many times and across many life times. Some believe they live to this day, torn asunder by that first, broken trust. A broken soul bond is not something taken lightly, though we do allow it. It must be replaced with a blood and knife marked bond, created in Dragon Fire.”

“Can you tell me-“

“I have told enough. It is time for you to leave.”

Wright stays sat, but the camera goes dark.**

“Wow. That was… cool. Mordred never said any of that stuff.”

“Maybe he didn’t believe it,” Leon says, peevishly.

“Hey, they’re on your side. Blood mark with Morgause and you’re good to go, mate,” Arthur says, slapping Leon on the shoulder as the adverts come up.

“What about that, though? Merlin and Arthur. Hardly a well known tale.”

“Hardly hidden. The Arthurian legends make mention of Merlin.”

“Briefly. He hardly figures in them, save as the man who takes Arthur from his parents. That’s his only mention. None of this latent power and Dragon’s breath stuff.”

“Good stuff, though, right? It would make a fantastic film.”

“We’re back!”

** “There is one more area to explore, but first I am going to take you to my final couple. This time I’m not traveling far, only to Cardiff. We’re going to meet Mrs and Mrs Jones, just to get a wide spread. I’ve spoken to those soul bonded and those not, so what’s left? Well, this pair have both met and rejected their soul marked match. At the JR earlier I was told that soul mark matches always work out, but what if the relationship is never entered into? We shall see.”

The camera pans to a block of flats and Wright gets into the lift. There’s a ping, and he’s deposited in front of a hall of uniform doors. He chooses number twenty five and knocks lightly, immediately ushered in by a young blond woman, bouncing before him down the hall and talking a mile a minute. 

“Hello, don’t worry- you’re expected. Janet’s just putting our littlest down for a nap, she’ll be out in a sec. Come through to the kitchen and meet Jenny, our oldest. Jenny, this is Mr Jed Wright, from the TV, love.”

“Hello Mr Jed from TV,” says a pretty, brunette kid with two front teeth missing and short cut hair. 

“Hello, Jenny. I’m going to be talking to your Mums, if that’s alright with you?”

“Yup. My brother’s noisy, so Mamma’s making him sleep. I’m gonna play with my uncle.”

“Good idea. Who’s your uncle?”

A short guy steps in and takes the child away, replaced by a willowy brunette with rolled up sleaves.

“Did Roxie offer you tea, or has she just been chatting?” Janet asks. 

“I’ve actually had about as much tea as I can get inside me, thank you, though and you go ahead.”

“I will do. Thank you for giving us a few minutes peace from the kids!” Janet says, flicking on the kettle. 

Wright perches on a kitchen chair at a small table and Roxie looks intently at him.

“Are you going to ask us some bulshit about soul marks? I met mine, didn’t like her.”

“You liked her fine, Rox. Don’t be an idiot, he’s not soul bonded, he’s not going to be a *beep*. Sorry, scuse me.”

“Right.”

“I will be asking you some questions, but I hope I can remain respectful. I understand that you’ve both met your soul match?”

“Yup. I did like her, actually. She’s still a very good friend of mine, but neither of us want anything from one another except platonic things.”

“The ancient Egyptians believed it was platonic, at least sometimes,” Wright says.

“Egyptians know best,” Janet says, joining them with tea. 

“What about you, Janet?”

“I met mine at school, and yeah, for a couple of years it seemed like we’d probably fall into a relationship, but it never happened. I actually believe in a lot of it, soul mates and love and connection and the rest, but I just didn’t want a sexual relationship with her. I fell in love with Rox, not Annie.”

“Yup. Definitely not in love with Gwen,” Rox says, grinning.

“What about the depth? You both know and care for your soul matches, so what about the depth of it, compared with what you have with one another?”

“It’s… it is different, I’ll give you that. There’s something incredibly compulsive, something almost primal and instinctual with Gwen. We know one another, and yeah, depth is a good word. We know one another deeply. But with Janet it’s still incredible and I think the longer we stick to one another, the more we’ll learn and the greater and deeper we’ll be.”

“Yeah. Instinctive is a good word. It’s very instinctive and being with Annie is being safe, is being unified. But being with Rox is being in love, is being together, connected, all the rest. I click, with Rox. I think we fit.”

“Are your marks similar?”

“Not at all! Not even remotely close. We had a ceremony, a while ago. A Druid friend of ours got us into a blood   
bond ceremony, and that was incredible, and there’s more instinct and depth since then, but it’s not a soul bond and we’re not allowed to say anything much about the ceremony.”

“I think a lot of people are buying into the Druid ideas, now. Since England repealed the law and can now have a primeminister who is married outside of a soul bond, I think more and more people will look for that and look for things like blood bonds.”

“Thank you for talking to me, I just have one last question. Do you believe in soul bonds?”

“Yes, for me. Without a doubt. It happens. Sometimes it’s not sexual, but yes. Janet?”

“Yeah, I do. You know I do.”

“But he didn’t.”

The camera pans out as they talk, laughing as it fades to black.**

“It’s interesting. Not learning a huge amount that we didn’t know, most of this is covered at school,” Leon says, 

“Where next, do you reckon?”

“He talked about reincarnation earlier, with the soul mark matched couple. I reckon he’ll talk to those wackos. He’s also waiting to see if anyone will come forward as his soul match, to see if he falls in love or sticks it out with his non-matched mate.”

“Brave.”

“Mm. Shh.”

**”… down to the South again. Just outside London there’s a professor of Reincarnation, teaching religion in a small school. She agreed to talk to us about her beliefs and practise.”

The camera flicks to a classroom and a neat, greying woman sat at a desk with Wright. 

“Mrs Leslie Phelps, is that right?”

“Correct. Call me Les, everyone does. I suppose you want me to talk you through reincarnation?”

“Please.”

“Okay. Well, a soul begins its journey as pure, and picks up marks throughout its long life. Not soul marks, just impressions and feelings. When the body that carries that soul dies, the impressions are read and the soul is sent back, according to those impression of good, bad and the inbetween. The soul is climbing to nirvana, trying to reach the pinnacle so it can gain entry to nirvana. I talk about it as a person, because that’s most understandable. It isn’t a consciousness. It’s just a soul.”

“There are suggestions that Myrddin and Arthur are reincarnated.”

“Yes, that’s the best known reincarnated pair. I haven’t seen them, or met anyone I suspect, but yes, I believe that they are. And yes, I believe that they are left parted, because of Arthur’s betrayal in marrying a woman instead of his soul mate. I believe is a soul matched mating.”

“You don’t go for Druidic matches, then?”

“No, I don’t. I’m a conservative.”

“And have you met your soul match yet?”

“No, I haven’t. I am looking, and I would like to show myself to those of you out there, if I may?”

“If it’s not anywhere too private.”

Les pulls up her top and reveals a sprawling mark across her stomach. The camera zooms in. 

“thanks.”

“Not a problem. I have another question. I talked to a couple who believed that everyone soul bonded has this reincarnated soul, and that they’ve travelled many lives together.”

“Yes, that is a great part of this. We believe that the souls that meet again and again and again are the strongest bonds. Those that walk each life side by side are those that feel the real depth of things.”

“Is there any evidence, any proof? You call yourself an expert, but you speak of faith and believe, almost like it’s a religion.”

“Our evidence is our feelings. That’s enough for us. Yes, it is a faith.”

The camera darkens, then comes up again, resting on Wright in an office.**

“That was a little bit lame,” Arthur says.

“Clearly reincarnation is not an exact science.”

“What time am I talking to Gwaine tomorrow? And do I really have to?”

“Yes, you do. Whenever you wrap up with Gerraint you need to text Gwaine and he’ll meet you back here to set something up.”

“Great. Fantastic.”

**”… I haven’t been able to find my soul marked match, so I can’t say from personal experience, but I’ve learnt a lot and think I will go home feeling more connected to my partner, though we aren’t a soul match. Good evening.”

A message comes up with a link to the website, promising more information, more in depth interviews and more interviews with couples, then the credits run and shrink to the corner of the screen.**  
Arthur switches off the TV and sighs.

“What are you going to do about Merlin?”

“Dunno. I don’t know what I believe. I liked him, though. I think… I’ll suggest keeping a professional relationship, but admit that I enjoy his company, and see what happens after filming ends.”

“That sounds… strangely grown up of you. Do remember to mention friendship, as well as professionalism, though.”

“Git,” Arthur says, without heat. 

“Can I please go to sleep, now? And call my girlfriend to say goodnight?”

“Yes. Leon?”

“Yeah?” Leon says, halfway out and pressing buttons on the phone.

“Merlin’s not the only one who traverses that line between friendship and professionalism. I don’t thank you for that enough.”

“No, you don’t. Sorry, I know Arthur, you say it in other ways. We’re good.”

“Okay. Night, Leon.”

“Good night.”

Arthur lies on his bed, looking up at the ceiling, thinking.


	8. Back to set, same old same old?

Merlin steps out into the airport and into a huge crowd of people. He’s tired from staying up late with Gwen and Lance, and utterly bewildered, tripping through people to the baggage thing and grabbing his bag before looking around, trying to spot someone. He’s supposed to be met here, he assumed by Arthur, but no one he recognises is in sight. He walks a hundred yards then gets shoved as people star pushing the other way, screaming and yelling. Merlin turns.   
Arthur’s just stepping out into the airport, sunglasses in place, sunny smile on and waving. He looks very blond, almost bleach blond, and Leon and Percy are either side of him. As Merlin watches Arthur bends towards the crowds, laughing. Merlin wonders if he’s supposed to try and push through to Arthur, but decides not. He pushes the other way and gets outside, then pulls out his blackberry to call Mithian.   
-Hi, Merlin, yes, sorry, sorry! Just got a call from Percy. We weren’t expecting the crowds, we thought we’d got away with it, but they found out the bloody vultures. Where are you?-  
“Out the front.”  
-Okay, just run round the side. And yes, I mean run. You should see a fence with a gate. Do you have your ID?-  
“Yeah.”  
-show that if anyone spots you. Go through the gate and down the alley and you should get to a small carpark, with a bit black car.-  
“Right.”  
Merlin runs. He gets there just as the car starts to pull away, but it jerks to a stop and the back door opens and he’s tugged inside. He falls across the seat in a sprawl, suitcase hitting him.   
“Got him. Let’s go, they’re coming.”  
Merlin rights himself and, with as much dignity as he can, rearranges himself and the case so he’s actually sat normally, before looking across at Arthur.   
“Hello, Merlin. Did you enjoy your holiday?” Arthur asks.  
“No, I didn’t. Or yes, I did, but I did not enjoy that!”  
“Welcome to my life, dear boy,” Arthur says, sounding amused.  
“Do you really live like this? Don’t you hate it? Honestly, all those fucking people!”  
“None of them were fucking, as far as I could see.”  
“He has a lot of perks,” Leon says, making Merlin jump as he pushes his head between them from a seat behind. Arthur laughs at him silently, “it’s not like he’s hard done by. Money, fame, girls. He lives a dream existence.”  
“All those people!” Merlin says, still a bit shell shocked.  
“You’ll get used to it. Did Mith pay you, by the way?” Arthur asks, removing his sunglasses and pulling out his ipad.  
“Yes, she did. Holiday pay as well, which was generous but unnecessary.”  
“The studio pays your wages, not me. I just has to hire you. Or rather your wages are included in my wages, I get a stipend for you. Isn’t that cool? I get paid to have a servant! And technically I could pay you less than they give me, all perfectly legal, and get more money.”  
“Do you ever actually read your contract, or try to understand it?” Leon says, shoving his head in again.   
“Nope, I pay someone for that. Are you wearing a seat belt?”  
“Yes.”  
“Sit back and shut up, stop undermining me.”  
“Nice, Arthur. Very nice.”  
Arthur hums and puts in headphones, ignoring everyone. Merlin looks out of the window and watches the scenery swim by, imagining quitting and never having to deal with screaming crowds or stuck up prats or anything ever again. He’s already made a ton of money, he could do it. Arthur hasn’t said anything about the marks, or what happened. Maybe he forgot, maybe it didn’t matter. Merlin looks across the car at him.   
Arthur’s leaning against the door, thumbing idly over something on the screen, eyes distant. He looks good, but tired; the skin under his eyes looks bruised and the way he’s leaning is almost a slump. As Merlin watches his eyes drift closed, and the lines of his face smooth out into sleep. He looks younger when he’s asleep, much younger. Almost like the teenager from his early films that Merlin did not watch and if he did watch them it was for research purposes.   
This time they’re staying in a small town, and the location was put out so there are a lot of fans waiting out the front of the hotel as well as curious locals and journalists and camera crews. Arthur puts his glasses back on and steps out, Leon at his side, but Percy puts out a hand to stop Merlin following. He doesn’t explain, but they ride in the car round the back and only then does Percy let him out. Merlin thinks he understands when he’s left to carry his suitcase and Arthur’s up to the top floor, and there isn’t a lift. He bursts into Arthur’s room with the key Percy gave him and drops everything, panting, glaring around. Arthur looks up from the chair, in the process of toeing off his shoes.   
“That was an entrance,” Arthur says, amused again.  
“I’m not your servant and I’m not a bloody valet and I am not carrying your bags next time, carry them yourself! You’re a prat!”  
“Yes, perhaps.”  
“And Percy’s a prat for making me stay in the car just to carry your shit.”

“Is that what he said?”

“No, he didn’t say a bleeding thing, just expected.”

“Right.”

“Right? It’s not right, it’s-“ Merlin stops himself mid stride when Arthur rubs his face, fingers staying at his temple, “are you alright?”

“Yes. Tired. What were you ranting about?”

“Never mind,” Merlin says, sitting on the bed, “are we going to talk about… or are we pretending it didn’t happen?”

“I’m tired, I’ve been up too long, I’m… I’m tired. Can we not, just tonight?”

“Fine,” Merlin says and stands to leave. He knows he’s being a bit unfair, but he’s in a foul mood. 

“Sorry. My head hurt, actually. Headache. You know the ones, behind your eyes and throbbing in your temples?”

“Yeah, I know them. I can go on a search for painkillers, if you like. I’m sure the hotel has some somewhere, right? And if not, Romania must have chemists.”

“I have some in my case, somewhere. I just don’t know where. I’ve packed and unpacked so many times recently, I can’t remember where I put anything.”

Merlin looks at their bags on the floor and sighs, but gets started unpacking Arthur’s things. He puts everything away and finds a blister pack of paracetamol among Arthur’s toiletries while doing the bathroom. He comes back to the room to find Arthur looking around, a look of bewilderment on his face. 

“What?” Merlin asks, trying to find whatever it is that’s curious.

“Nothing. Just, I haven’t bothered to unpack like this in a long time. I usually just live out of my suitcase. It’s weird, to see… it’s like a proper bedroom.”

“Should I have left it in the case?”

“No, no. Thank you.”

Merlin nods and passes the painkillers over, then retreats to his own room to unpack. By the time the day’s done, he’s knackered and more than ready to sleep for a week. Unfortunately, he can only sleep for a few hours before his alarm goes off. 

He is definitely not prepared for a whole new week. He tries showering and seeing how he feels, but he still feels like he’s been stamped on multiple times and then dragged through a hedge backwards. Or similar. He has a growing respect for Arthur, who changes time zones all the time and seems to still be happy to do it. Merlin’s pretty sure that his next new year’s resolution will be ‘no more jet setting, stay comfy at home in dear old England!’. Or similar. 

He bangs on Arthur’s door, waits for rustling and when none sounds, puts the key in to get Arthur up the same as he did almost every day before the break, but freezes. It’s weird, now, to waltz into Arthur’s room. Arthur knows they’re a match, knows Merlin knows, maybe he’ll think Merlin is… sneaking a preview, or something. Merlin hesitates, then decides Arthur is far more likely to skin him alive for making him late than for some psychologic thing that Merlin can’t really predict and is basically just Merlin’s paranoia. 

He barges in and bangs around, opens the curtains and ruffles Arthur’s hair before heading for coffee. It takes a bit longer, because he has to find the restaurant and then, as the restaurant is closed, a staff person to ask about coffee and then he has to actually make the coffee, from the scattered debris left by previous cast members in the kitchen area set up for the shoot. 

Arthur’s sitting on the steps, doing up his laces and yawning, when Merlin jogs up the stairs. He looks about as pleased with the day as Merlin is, so Merlin doesn’t risk saying anything, just hands over the coffee and the flask of extra coffee and offers Arthur a hand up, which Arthur takes with a grunt (which is Arthur’s version of ‘good morning’). They head down to the carpark together. 

Merlin thinks it’s a mark of how much he’s become part of this world, that he barely registers it when two dark guys fall in behind them. 

There are a lot of people again this week, but they all leave Arthur alone so Merlin doesn’t know who they are, except he recognises Odin and the stunt woman, the latter of which is stood with a rangy guy, going over a notebook. 

“’s’ Tristan. He’s a fucking legend, taught me to sword fight and ride and all that shizzle,” Arthur says, following Merlin’s gaze and thoughts frighteningly accurately. 

Merlin reaches out and takes the flask from under Arthur’s arm, popping it open and waiting for Arthur to hold his mug out for a refill, which Arthur does with a strange, almost smile. 

“What?” Merlin asks.

“You’re good at this servant stuff, aren’t you?”

“You’re eloquent for morning Arthur, usually it’s just grunts I get.”

“I’ve been awake for hours. Couldn’t sleep, and when I finally dozed off I woke up two hours later because of things.”

“Two hours sleep. Today is going to be so much fun.”

“Tell me about it. I can feel Mordred’s hyper vibes from here, and he’s still in the hotel. Can you hear him talking to what’s her name?”

Merlin listens, and can, and has to laugh. He also knows who Arthur means by what’s her name. 

That laugh is Merlin’s last of the day. His vision of the day did not come half close enough to the reality. Arthur’s doing stunt work in the morning and Merlin directs him to the wrong set (there are two with the same name and Gaius goes to the wrong one, too, so Merlin is entirely not to blame even though Arthur glares). When he finally gets to the right place, he’s strapped into a harness and flung against a bank of snow, or a bank of mats and soft things and ‘please don’t hurt my actors Tristan or I’ll have your balls’ material. It’s harmless, but leaves Arthur so bad tempered that he actually throws his insulated mug at Merlin’s head and makes a frustrated, disappointed sound when it misses. 

After that Arthur’s filming with Odin, and the scene is great and brilliant and all good things, even Gaius is happy with it, but Arthur comes off set with dark eyes and flubs his lines all afternoon. Arthur finally gets a lunch break at three, and Merlin sees him again after a break neck afternoon of following up with scripts, running after people for schedules and trying to talk make up out of attempting to use the make up Arthur is reportedly allergic to, ‘just to see if it would work because it’s the best for this one itty bitty scene’. Merlin also talks to Mithian and emails Gerraint, and follows up on emails from the crew. 

He’s sat in catering, melting into a mug of hot soup, when Arthur comes squelching in, scowling, Mordred at his back looking apologetic. Merlin tries to vanish, but they spot him and head right for his table, sitting in angry (on Arthur’s part) and shameful (on Mordred’s part) silence. Merlin focusses on his soup. 

“Did you get me sandwiches for later?” Arthur asks, briskly. 

“Not yet, next on the long long list. Lunch time,” Merlin says, minimizing words in the hopes that he’ll be forgotten. 

“I want lunch, I’m hungry. Get me food, Merlin,” Arthur says. 

Merlin narrows his eyes, but behind the rude, disrespectful tone Arthur just seems tired out and fed up, so Merlin shrugs and passes over his soup, getting up to go find more food. When he returns with a tray full of fruit, sandwiches, more soup and chocolate bars, Mordred is red in the face and angry, and Arthur’s glowering darkly back, in the middle of an argument. 

“…entitlement is something earned!” Mordred is saying, voiced strained and seemingly only just managing not to yell.

“Entitlement is a neutral word, actually. But you know nothing about entitlement, do you, as you’ve never been entitled to anything,” Arthur is saying, voice biting. 

“I don’t know how people put up with you, Pendragon, I really don’t. I can’t believe I actually thought I might learn something from you,” Mordred says, and he flounces off. 

Merlin sits in his spot and passes Arthur a packet of sandwiches before starting in on his second mug of soup, not commenting, keeping quiet, not existing. 

“He’s a bloody idiot. I can talk to you however I please, can’t I?” Arthur says, and then continues before Merlin can come to terms with the fact that they were arguing about him, “besides, you knew I didn’t mean it like an order, and you’d be perfectly disgusting if you thought I was treating you badly. Bloody little idiot.”

“Me or Mordred?” Merlin says, mildly.

“Mordred. Where am I this afternoon?”

Merlin pulls out his Blackberry to check, then grins because he’s looking forward to this location much more than boring bits of mountain set up for stunts. 

“At the castle! Brilliant,” he says.

“Not brilliant. That’s where all the fans are. Did you get anything about that, yet? About what I’m meant to do?”

“Talked to Mithian and she’s sending me an email with a sort of schedule of what she wants from you. I think you’ll just go talk to them tomorrow morning when you’ve got that free bit, and do some signatures and stuff. She calls them sigs.”

“Mm, she does. Great. Don’t suppose you could dig out painkillers anywhere, could you?”

“Do you still have a headache?” Merlin asks, scanning Arthur’s face for signs of pain and finding exhaustion as well, “yeah, I’ll find some.”

Arthur nods and they finish in silence, then head to the castle. Arthur has his two shadows and Percy, and they walk from the set to the castle in silence, Merlin scanning his emails for the one from Mithian. He almost missing the blanket of people, and doesn’t notice till he’s basically in the midst of them, then the screaming gets his attention. There’s a barrier either side that they’re not allowed past, and Arthur walks down the middle with a smile and a wave, briskly on his way, leaving Merlin scrambling behind him. Cameras click all around and questions are shouted, and then they’re through. Merlin breathes a sigh of relief.

“Not out of the woods yet,” Arthur says, amused once again, “they can still take photos. Just stays a few steps behind me and they won’t question it as a professional relationship. You really don’t want these guys staking you out, trust me.”

“And you do want them staking you out?”

“Nope, but they’re _my_ fans, they like me. And also, part of my job, not part of yours. Part of your job is to tell me where the crap I’m going.”

Merlin pulls out the layout plan he’s been given and turns it around a few times, then points in the right (he hopes) direction. He isn’t sure how a day can get worse than this one is going, but it does. Having people taking pictures makes Arthur more controlled and careful off set and that means he’s a pain in the arse, and Merlin finds it much more difficult to get everything he needs when he’s stuck at the one location, because he can’t leave the castle without someone because of the fans who might abduct him, or something. He does manage to find first aid and a blister pack of two paracetamol, and he manages to make up with Mordred for Arthur. 

He finishes at about five and sneaks up to the filming, sitting in Arthur’s chair to watch. Arthur, or Selk, is stood in the hall, or what used to be the hall but now has no roof, looking up as snow falls. Snow isn’t falling, but they have a machine, which is funny as there’s snow everywhere and everyone is chattering about whether there’ll be any filming on Wednesday because there’s rumour of a snow storm. As Merlin slides into the seat, another guy steps out from behind a pillar. 

“Sakesh,” the new arrival says. 

Merlin doesn’t recognise the actor, but he’s got a lovely voice, whoever he is. He’s got long blonde hair and a scarred face. Or maybe that’s just make up, Merlin can’t tell from here. Selk doesn’t turn. 

“I know that voice,” he says, musingly, still looking up, “I know you. Look, can you see? There are stars falling.”

“It’s snow, Sakesh.”

“Snow. This? This is what it is on the ground? It’s fallen stars that we tread on.”

“No, it is snow. It’s frozen water.”

“No, it is too beautiful. Look up, healer, see it.”

“I can see it.”

“My brother once told me that we rarely do see anything, except in stillness. I never knew what he meant until now. I am still, I am calm, I am here more than I have ever been anywhere, and I look up and I can see the stars as they fall to earth.”

“If that is what you see, it must be so.”

“Can the sunblind see you? No, of course they can’t. Christ says that it is not seeing, it is hearing. We from underground hear, and our mind translate the sound to a picture. I do not know whether he is right.”

“He is right.”

“Have you come for me, like you came for my brother?”

“I do not come to take people away, I come to heal. Too often the two collide, as happened with your brother.”

“Why, then, are you here?”

“You are called, Sakesh. The old master is dead, and it is you who are called. I volunteered to find you, I felt responsible after I couldn’t save your brother.”

“They call for me? I will not come. I like it here, the air is cooler.”

“Where is this Christ?”

“He is here, in the stars, falling about us. My nephew ran with him, but I think he got further. His father fell through the ice. There is no one left, just me.”

“So come home, come back to us. Lead us.”

“I have a wolf to find, and I have stars to follow, and I have rivers to lead me. I will find my brother-child, and I will find the sun, and when I do I will send someone for you.”

Arthur turns away and walks towards the corner of the hall. 

“Cut! Okay, that’s fine. Can we take it from… let’s have the entrance again, and try not to trip, Arthur? Okay, reset.”

Arthur comes over while people hurry out, smoothing snow and trying to get things to line up with previous shots. Merlin gives Arthur the painkillers and water. 

“Thanks. Up,” Arthur says, and Merlin gets up as though commanded. Arthur smirks, then yawns, “you done, Merlin?”

“Yeah.”

“Oi, Owen!”

One of Arthur’s shadows comes jogging up, grinning, looking more human than shadow. It helps that he’s got a sandwich in one hand and a coke in the other.

“Yup? You done?”

“Not even close. Gaius is going to go,” Arthur pauses to yawn, “Over this damn scene second by second. You can clock off, though, if you take Merlin here back to the hotel.”

“Why do I win the lottery?” Owen asks suspiciously, pointing his sandwich at Arthur accusingly. 

“Because you do. Off you trot, boys.”

Merlin goes, and Owen half skips to catch up and starts chatting about football and how he really hates Percy for liking some team. Owen doesn’t seem to feel the need to be in bodyguard mode for Merlin, though he does go a bit more alert as they push through the last trailing fans.

“Most of the vultures leave when the sun sinks, only the hard core stay this late. Oh great, there goes the bu- yes! They’re stopping!”

The bus stops and Owen breaks into a joyful jog, so Merlin bumps along after him. They tumble aboard and Isolde grins at them, stretched out over a whole row of seats.

“I saw your shock of bleached hair, Owen. Nice look,” she says. 

“It was an accident.”

“How do you accidentally bleach your hair?”

Merlin tunes them out, pulling his ipad from his bag and starting on a long, complaining email to Gwen. When he gets back he goes to Arthur’s room and calls room service to see if they can dig out any heat packs, because Arthur’s probably sore after the stunt bits, and as an after thought he orders sandwiches, too. Then he settles in to browse the fansites. 

He’s got comfortable, in his slippers and big jumper (fetched when the light outside reached almost nothing) and has a cup of tea on the go, when Arthur falls into the room. Merlin takes one look at him and puts his laptop away, hurrying forward to help Arthur tug off his shoes. 

“Your feet are ice blocks,” he says, worried. Arthur’s lips are blue.

“It’s fucking freezing out, and we only just got the right emotional intensity or something. Oh, and apparently this is the end of the film. Can you believe it? I just walk off into the sunset, like a cliché.”

“You’re really cold, Arthur.”

“I know that.”

“As in can you even feel this?” Merlin rubs across Arthur’s arch, which Arthur doesn’t feel, “right, shower. Start it cool and get steadily warmer. And tomorrow I am talking to Gaius about health and safety, because sending you back as a block of ice is not part of the deal.”

Arthur goes to shower, but before a minute is out Merlin hears a curse and crash, and then his name is bellowed. He goes through to see Arthur sat on the floor, the shower gel, shaving cream and shampoo that were ranged on the little shelf scattered around him.

“Uh, what happened?” Merlin asks, tentatively. 

“I don’t bloody know, do I? It started raining things. I can’t get the buttons, can you unbutton me?”

Merlin crouches and undoes Arthur’s shirt. 

“Why are you even wearing this?”

“Can’t slog about in pyjamas when the fans are watching, it’s one of Mithian’s rules. Apparently in public Arthur is put together and fashionable Arthur. There’s a list of things I’m allowed to wear. She’s trying to cultivate a more sophisticated image, because apparently when I was playing Lars, that soldier, I let myself go.”

Merlin’s not sure if the sudden stream of words is a result of the tiredness, or the bad temper, but either way he gets Arthur up, returns the fallen items to their shelf and retreats, leaving Arthur to shower. It’s another night where talking is not an option. 

On Tuesday morning, the blond guy from filming (the scarring was not make up) comes up to Arthur before the requisite cup of coffee and gets his head bitten off, and he leaves in a stew. Merlin hopes it’s not a precursor to another horrible day. He waits for Arthur to hold his mug out for a refill, then asks who the blond guy is.   
“Edwin Muirden. Never worked with the bloke before, but he’s pretty solid as an actor. He’s got a rep for being a diva, but he’s really good. He’s very method, which is why he’s talking to me- we’re supposed to have a relationship. Ugh.”

“Is that headache still hanging on? See if Gaius will let you go early today, you need to sleep.”

“I do, but I’m not going to ask because that’ll just make him keep me longer. Probably we’ll get tomorrow off, that snowstorm looks to be more than rumour. Am I meeting fans this morning?”

“No. You’re doing more stunt stuff. You have an actual break at twelve, which is when we’ll get you over to the castle to take some pictures and… there’s a list.”

“There’s always a list. Are you sure you know where I’m going first?”

“Prat, yes I do, that was not my fault.”

“I admit it may have been only partially your fault.”

“Gee, thanks. I was knackered and the names were the same.”

“Were knackered?”

“I had a nap while waiting for you yesterday. Do you want me to go to yoru room again tonight?”

“Mm. Liked the sandwiches and heat stuff and you have amazing hands, my shoulders aren’t even stiff.”

“Did I hear right? You finally talked your PA into giving you a massage?” Tristan says, coming up and looming. 

“You heard right. Tristan, Merlin, Merlin, Tristan. Merlin has complaints about health and safety, he’s going to talk to Gaius, tell him how far he’ll get.”

“Nowhere. No. Where. Trust me, I’ve tried. Although, I have reason to suspect we’re coming from different ends of it.”

Arthur concedes with a shrug and yawns widely. 

“Wake up, boy. Here’s something to cheer you up, mate- we’re doing sword fighting this morning!” Tristan says, enthusiastically. 

Arthur groans and stretches, holding out his mug for more coffee. 

Watching Arthur fight with a sword turns out to be a fantastic spectator sport. He’s fighting Odin and Gaius keeps pausing to swap Odin for one of the stunt guys, but he never swaps Arthur out and Merlin can see why; Arthur’s really bloody good at it. He’s light on his feet and very quick, and he balances the sword perfectly, spinning and dodging. It’s like he’s dancing. And when he attacks, it’s with a flurry of quick-paced blows, advancing on Odin, feet sure. Merlin sits in Arthur’s chair too long and nearly forgets to follow up with the make-up girl who wants to have a longer session with Arthur tomorrow morning than has been scheduled, if the storm doesn’t strike. 

Merlin has lunch at a normal time and so he doesn’t run into Arthur, but he does run into Edwin Muirden. The man sits at Merlin’s table and watches him, then moves up to sit opposite him and smiles in a creepy way. Merlin focusses on his sandwich.

“Merlin, isn’t it?” Edwin asks.

“Yup,” Merlin says, mouth full.

“Arthur’s PA. I noticed you yesterday, watching us.”

“Yup, I did that,” Merlin admits.

“I finish early tonight, would you like to come have a look around the town with me? I’m going to see if I can find a good pub. I speak Romanian, I can look after you.”

“Not supposed to go out without anyone at the moment, because of fans and Arthur’s paranoia. I have work to do this evening, too.”

“You work too hard. Arthur can manage.”

“Sorry.”

“I meant as a date, you know. I’m fascinated by you.”

“Oh! Right! Um, sorry, sorry.”

“So is that yes?”

“No, sorry, but no. Nothing against you, just not… not my thing. Currently. Dating.”

Edwin doesn’t leave. He sits there, watching Merlin eat, until Merlin has to say ‘oh look at the time!’ and scarper. He doesn’t have much to do, so he watches Arthur and Mordred film piece-meal dialogue and reaction shots, then retreats to the hotel and emails Gwen again. He’s lying on his bed, watching TV, when he hears Arthur get in. He listens, wondering if he should go over, but then decides against it. 

In the night, it snows. Deep, thick blankets of the stuff. Merlin wakes to that stuffed , cold, silence and looks out, but he can’t see anything except for white. He looks at his emails and finds one from Gaius cancelling the shoot, so he gets back in bed to warm his feet. He doesn’t bother to wake Arthur. He’s reading a book when someone starts crashing on his door. 

“ _Mer_ lin! You didn’t wake me!”

“There’s a snow storm, prat!” Merlin shouts through the door, waiting. 

The crashing stops. Merlin waits. There’s a long pause, and then there’s a more gentle knocking.

“Yeah?” he says, stifling his amusement.

“Um… are you hiding? Or are you just not letting me in because you think it’s funny?”

Merlin gets up and opens the door, laughing, and Arthur shakes his head. He looks… Merlin starts laughing harder. 

“What?” Arthur grumbles, and runs a hand through his hair, making it worse. 

“Oh, I have to take a picture! Wait!”

“Oh great, another photo of me. Just what I want.”

Merlin hesitates, then decides Arthur’s being an idiot and isn’t really upset and he grabs his phone, snapping a picture of Arthur. 

“Let me see. What is it?” Arthur says, snapping his fingers. 

Merlin hands over the phone and watches Arthur’s lips twitch. His hair is truly crazy, whether from jumping out of bed or sleeping weird or something entirely different, it’s standing up over. He also has a pillow crease across his cheek and one eye hasn’t opened properly, stuck by his eyelashes. Arthur rubs his face. 

“Better?”

“No,” Merlin says, and reaches out to run his thumb over the crease. 

He realises what he’s doing when his thumb is halfway down, and freezes, letting his hand drop. 

“Sorry,” he says, blushing.

“Uh, okay. Are we having breakfast today? I know!” Arthur’s face lights up with enthusiasm, and he jumps onto Merlin’s bed, “room service breakfast!”

Arthur looks at Merlin with childish expectation, with an adult edge of entitlement and amusement. Merlin’s pretty sure that Arthur is aware of what he is doing and is testing Merlin, to see if he will react. Merlin keeps deadpan and goes to the phone to order breakfast. He remembers how much Arthur ate when they did breakfast, and orders plenty of friend things. 

Arthur insists that they eat off a blanket on the floor like a picnic, and that Merlin opens the curtains ‘to let the snow and sun watch’, despite the fact that all there is out there is white and wind and terror. Merlin indulges him, eating quietly and listening to Arthur talking about his childhood. 

“I used to do this,” Arthur says, leaning against the bed beside Merlin, voice soft, “when Dad was at work and I was off school. I’d go into the office and we’d have a picnic. The paps never got wind of it and he never told them, it was just us, our thing.”

“Sounds nice.”

“It was. I had a very privileged upringing and I had a lot more than most kids do, but sometimes I used to want so badly for the blanket picnics to be normal, and the rest of it to be weird, instead of the other way round.”

“It must have been lonely.”

“Not really, actually. Maybe, a little, looking back, but I was good at making friends and meeting people, and there were always people around to make friends with. I wasn’t exactly a deep thinker. As long as I had a few buddies for a slap up game of football, I was content. I think Morgana got lonely, though. We always had one another, but there were times when she and Dad were fighting that I think were very hard for her. Please don’t tell anyone this, don’t sell it to a paper or something.”

“I wouldn’t even know how to begin to go about doing that. Or why anyone would. Or, yes I do, but I won’t. Money doesn’t make my world go round.”

“Maybe not, but it sure helps to keep it spinning.”

Merlin laughs. 

“I like that,” Merlin says, grinning, “money doesn’t make the world go round, but it sure helps to keep it spinning. Very true.”

“Not that I’d know. I’ve always had more money than I know what to do with. I’m lucky, really. Born into a rich family, I fell into acting young and got a lucky break, and now they pay me billions to play dress up and pretend.”

“literally billions?”

“Enough that I honestly have no idea where my money is or what it’s doing. Mithian deals with it all. I don’t actually do most of the work, you know. I have PAs and directors and bodyguards and Mithian. I just go where I’m told and say what I’m told.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Arthur. You’re a decent actor and you’re actually a good person, from what I’ve seen. Both of which aren’t exactly common.”

“Mm,” Arthur leans his head back and closes his eyes, “Christ I’m knackered. I can feel where Tristan threw me, as well.”

“I missed that. What happened?”

“I bodged something and got thrown into the ground with more force than intended. I can feel it all up my back.”

“Um, I can give you a massage. If you like.”

“I wasn’t angling.”

“No, I know.”

“But if you’re offering…”

Merlin nods and wriggles his fingers, which makes Arthur snort. He gets onto the bed and lies down, though, pulling his shirt off in one lithe, smooth movement. Merlin’s been getting used to Arthur, but sometimes he’ll catch Arthur at just the right angle, and he’ll be beautiful. The moment the shirt comes off Arthur turns towards Merlin a little, following the line of the shirt as it falls to the floor, and the cold light from the snow and the fluorescent light from the bulb cast Arthur’s face in half white half orange-y light, and he looks ephemeral, fairy-like. 

“I read ‘The Faerie Queene’ once,” Merlin says, casting back in his memory, “and there was an Arthur in that. He was full off light, almost bursting with it. His around glittered, his helm was gold, his shield was diamond. When the shield was uncovered it was blinding.”

“Oh?”

“I dunno, you caught the light just then at just the right moment. You almost looked like something from ‘faerie lond’, as Spencer calls it. It was beautiful.”

Arthur doesn’t answer, but Merlin can see the slight smile and blush. It’s almost funny- Arthur’s well known for being beautiful, for his looks, for his style, for all of it, and he still blushes at a compliment that’s so repeated to almost be cliché. Merlin gets up and sits on the bed by Arthur, running his hand over the bruised flesh. Arthur hisses so Merlin takes his hand back, then starts again on the skin that’s not bruised. 

They stay silent for a while, the silence echoed and enhanced by the snow, listening to the blustering wind and howl as it swoops around or up or through something. Merlin listens to Arthur’s breathing deepen, and thinks he’s asleep, beginning to drowse himself. 

“I’m not ignoring it,” Arthur says, making Merlin jump. 

Merlin almost asks ‘ignoring what?’ but doesn’t. He can see the top of Arthur’s mark. 

“I just don’t know what to do, not about that. You’re a good friend to me,” Arthur continues.

“It’s not like I have any more idea than you,” Merlin says, mildly. He got over his anger and frustration (more or less), “I was on twitter one day and people were telling me how much we were alike, and then Lance says he knows a way I can tell you and the next thing I know I’m PA to a prat and I dislike you. By the time I liked you enough to really want to tell you, I didn’t know how, and I didn’t know what to do with it, either.”

“Morgana met Mithian when they were both seventeen. They both believed in all the crap about true love and soul bonds, but they both felt too young, so they decided to keep in touch but live separate lives for a bit. Before the year was out Mithian had changed schools to be closer to Morgana and they were boinking like rabbits, not to put too fine a point on it.”

“Are you saying we should just give in?”

“No, I’m just… meandering. You’re really bloody good at this.”

“Cocking things up, or the massage?”

“The massage. Though, both, really.”

“Do we fancy each other? I guess that’s the question.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. Don’t answer now, let’s think about it.”

Arthur goes quiet and Merlin goes back to work. 

I could answer right now, Arthur thinks, Merlin’s hands firm and warm on his back. I know the answer, I know what we should do, I love you. He’s surprised by the last, but it settles in him, warm, content, right. He does, he loves Merlin. He doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but he knows that this is what love is. He’d always wondered if he’d know, but he does. He knows. 

Arthur lays for a moment, then, without coming to any real decision, he turns over and sits up, nearly bashing heads with Merlin. Merlin opens his mouth, eyes startled and frustrated, but Arthur cuts him off by kissing him. There’s a shocked noise, and a puff of air, then Merlin’s kissing back. It’s warm and possessive, but not desperate. Arthur slows it further and Merlin reaches up, grasping Arthur’s neck, hand on the back of his head to hold him. 

“So no thinking?” Merlin asks, pulling back, still close enough that Arthur feels his breath as he speak. 

“No thinking,” Arthur agrees, closing the distance.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! This hasn't been abandoned, I've just got deadlines and exams and interviews and finance applications and job search things to do. Here's another chapter, finally.

"Are you team Angel, or team Spike?" Arthur mumbles, voice soft. 

Merlin turns his head on the pillow to look at him. They kissed for a while, but since then they've just been lying on the bed. Arthur's been playing with Merlin's fingers. He looks sleepy and all soft and golden, hair picking up the quiet light from the bedside lamp, eyes drifting closed but showing blue even as slits. 

"Team Arthur," Merlin says, half laughing, half fond.

"Me and Smidge? Nah. I was always more of a Xander boy myself. I have a thing for nice guys," Arthur says, still soft and sleepy.

"Smidge?"

"Sarah Michelle Geller, S.M.J, Smidge. Dunno, maybe it was just a thing. We used to call her that, is all. Seriously, team Angel or team Spike?"

"Sarah Michelle Geller? Is this a Buffy thing?"

Arthur blinks at him, forehead wrinkling. He gets up on one elbow, staring down at Merlin incredulously. 

"You haven't _seen it_?"

"Um, no. Nope. Maybe an episode or two, sometimes, but no, not really my thing."

"...huh," Arthur says, as if it's the most inexplicable thing, slumping back onto the bed and taking Merlin's hand again, lacing their fingers together, "Giles always looked kind of like my Dad. They had that same look, you know? I used... I used to wonder if my Dad was ever like that. Giles was kinder and softer and easier than my Dad. Much kinder."

"Your Dad sounds like a bit of a twot, to be honest."

"Twot? I guess he is. He loves me, though, and that isn't something that everyone gets. I never for a moment doubted that he loved me."

"I doubted it, about my Dad. Often."

"That sucks. I never met my mother, but there was never any doubt that _she_ loved me, either. Even Morgana and I found ways to let each other know that even though we screamed at each other and told each other we hated one another all the time... you know."

"My Mum made up for it. And Will, he was my best friend, almost my brother. He sometimes lived with us, when his Mum lost it. She was always doubtful."

Arthur looks troubled, face wrinkled in thought. 

"I was always convinced that the world was a good place, you know, Merlin. I knew good people and I saw good people do good things. I knew that people made bad choices, but I didn't know that sometimes people are just plain bad. These days, though, I wonder. How do people let their kids doubt something so vital as that?"

Arthur looks at Merlin as if he actually expects an answer. Merlin shrugs, but he feels stupidly fond of the idiot; who really believes the world is a good place after they reach adulthood? It's very endearing that Arthur thinks a few moments of doubt are the worst thing a parent can do to a child.

"There isn't anything worse," Arthur says, as if reading Merlin's thoughts, "there's nothing worse than a child who hasn't experienced whole-hearted, unconditional love. There isn't anything in the world that feels like that, Merlin. There's _nothing_ in the world that feels as safe and all encompassing and good as love does. To take that from a child, to take away that safety and that thoughtful care, there is nothing worse."

"Maybe you're right. It's not exactly in the European Bill of Human Rights- everyone has the right to be loved by their parents- is it? I dunno. Seems there are other things."

"The right a good quality of life. The right to a good education. What's life if no one cares for you? What can you learn that's more important than loving, and how can you learn that without having experienced it? I know I'm a bit naive sometimes, but you're wrong if you think there are things that are more important." 

Merlin lets it go. He's not sure that Arthur's wrong, not entirely, so he lets it go and kisses Arthur instead, eyes sliding shut, body moving closer, pressing a hand to Arthur's neck to draw him in. Desperate, breathless, hopeless kisses as if nothing else matters. Something flares inside him, something warm and hot and gasping for air, burning, rolling, growing. Light and joy and deep, deep laughter, like nothing else. 

"Wow," Arthur says, pulling back, breathless, "Morgana was right. There's nothing like this, is there?"

And then they're kissing again, moving, rolling, rocking, touching, gasping, breathing, melding. 

Arthur looks across the castle courtyard towards Merlin, feeling his eyes on him. Merlin waves with a cup of coffee. Arthur can still feel him, his hands, his breath, his body. It's sat like a weight within him, a kind of heat. It itches under his skin, drawing him towards Merlin. 

"Arthur! pay attention. Run that again, guys," Tristan yells, pulling Arthur back into the fight. 

Arthur raises the broom handle and tries to pay attention to his steps and twists, spins and dives. 

"Okay, good, Odin will be to your left.. to your right... up... left- other left, Arthur," Tristan directs, stepping alongside him, walking him through it, "good, better. Let's run it again from the top, this time keep your head here."

Arthur runs it, three times, with the stunt guys not letting up or giving him a break. It's his fault for wanting to do this sequence himself. He loves stuff like this, he just has to not be distracted by the feel of Merlin's eyes on him. He trips on the fourth run through and Tristan makes them stop, but Gaius calls them over before Arthur can sneak off and see Merlin or get a sandwich.

"Arthur, let's do it on the ice," Gaius says. 

Which means on camera. Arthur nods and jogs to his marks, wondering if he'll manage to do this without screwing up and making Gaius hate him. Stupid parental feud. Gaius is one of the best directors in the world and is usually great to work for. As long as your name isn't Pendragon. Arthur sighs and squints at the cameras, clocking their positions, then away. He squares up to Odin's stunt double and they wait. The gate goes. 

"Action!"

They're off. Arthur gets his staff up, turns, steps three away, three in, to the left... turn, turn back, four away... skip a step, slide round, two in... turn, up, attack, up, left... step away, spin... 

"Great, cut! Can we run it again? Arthur, try being a bit more aggressive on the attack," Gaius says. 

Arthur nods and goes back to his marks, rubbing his wrist where the hit of Jack's staff strained it. 

"You good?" Jack asks, grinning. 

"Yeah, just must've got the wrong angle."

They stand ready again, watch the gate. It goes.

"Action!"

They're off again. They get it on the third take, running right through to the end, and Arthur lets out a 'whoop' when Gaius says they've got it, because that's good. Three takes and they're done, which means he has time to eat lunch for once. He shakes Jack's hand then jogs off to find Merlin. 

Merlin looks up from where he’s sat in Arthur’s chair, thumbing over his tabled. Arthur smiles, because he’s still a ways away and Merlin can’t have noticed he’s coming over. Maybe it goes two ways, this odd pull he feels. Arthur waves and Merlin grins, getting to his feet. Arthur jogs over and pats his shoulder in lieu of kissing him. 

“Did you see?” Arthur asks, still a bit high off adrenaline. 

“Yeah, most of it. Didn’t catch the end, though. Who won?”

“Him.”

“You sound so sulky. You know it’s just show, right?”

“Mm. Yeah.”

“How’s the eternal headache?”

Merlin, as he speaks, pushes the sweaty hair off his face. Arthur leans into the touch briefly, then pulls away. 

“It’s not there. Fighting’s good- it wears you out, but you get shit loads of adrenaline.”

“Sorry,” Merlin says, looking uncomfortable and a bit sad. 

“Me too, but everyone’s watching. All the fans have long lenses and are snapping anything they think demonstrates something. They get these pictures and put a spin on them and they all think they know me and own me, so they can do what they want.”

“Oh.”

“They do, in a way. I share bits of myself with them, and I’m happy to. I’m happy for them to take position of my public image, that’s what it’s there for. And my characters are as much theirs as mine. But, see, I sign up for it. I go into the job knowing that whatever I put out is no longer mine alone. If I get buddy with someone on an open set, that friendship belongs partly to the fans. You, on the other hand, didn’t sign on for any such thing.”

“Right.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t… you have to understand what exactly it is you’re doing before we out ourselves to the whole world. I mean, we only just kissed, we haven’t been on a date, we haven’t known each other long. If this was years old, I would let you touch me and I would kiss you and… but it’s not. It’s new. And wow, adrenaline makes me talkative!”

“It does. I like it. It’s okay, though, I understood it when you stepped back. Glad you said it, because I was a little uncertain, but I already knew.”

“I wish I could kiss you.”

Merlin laughs and his eyes light up, crinkling around the corners. Arthur sighs and rubs his face, wanting to reach out again. 

“Pendragon! Can we get you on your marks, not nattering and gossiping like a teenager?” Gaius yells, interrupting. 

“Right!” Arthur yells, “come to my room, later. Oh, and bring food. I can’t see Gaius letting me go for lunch any time soon.”

“I’ll leave sandwiches in your trailer and order dinner for half an hour after you’re supposed to finish up.”

“Kay.”

Arthur jogs back to the set, getting ready to do the shots where they need Odin’s face. He does manage a quick ten minute break and manages to stuff half of one of the sandwiches Merlin left for him in. He eats the rest when he’s finished up, taking his time getting out of his costume. The adrenaline has faded, leaving him aching with tiredness and over-exertion, feeling the bruises from the times he fell. 

He falls asleep on the mini-bus and nearly rides it past the hotel. It’s small, like the town, so some of the crew are staying elsewhere, and Arthur could have ended up there. Wherever it is. But Edwin wakes him up, and even escorts him to his room, hand at his elbow, laughing. 

“Here we are, dopey,” Edwin says at the door, “want me to come in? tuck you in?”

“Shove off. Thanks, but no thanks. Merlin’s here,” Arthur says, absently, yawning. He freezes, “to go over some stuff with me,” he adds. 

He’s so tired it comes out calm, which is good, because panicking would be one sure way to give them away. 

“Right. Your assistant, Merlin Emrys. Maybe I should come in? Talk to him, tell him you’re too tired?”

“No, thanks,” Arthur says, yawning again, digging around for his keys. 

“Maybe I should make you a coffee, you’re falling asleep on your feet. Or just come in to chat with Merlin.”

Arthur frowns at Edwin’s continued insistence, trying to work out what he’s doing. Exhaustion is moer insistent, though, so he shrugs and keeps struggling for his keys. 

“I’m good, Edwin,” he says, then, more firmly, “I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m knackered, just gonna crash out. Goodnight.”

Edwin trails away, leaving Arthur to curse at his pockets. Before his frustration over takes him, though, Merlin opens the door and peers out, laughing at him. Arthur looks at him, helplessly, and shrugs. 

“Keys,” he explains. 

“Come on, food’s here. I underestimated Gaius’s hard arse ness.”

“Everyone does, they think he’s soft and cuddly. I’m not hungry.”

Arthur droops into the room and collapses on the bed, moaning at how soft it is. He feels sleep tugging at him and closes his eyes, sighing in relief. He feels Merlin getting his shoes and trousers off, but he’s too far gone to help out.

“Come on, wake up a bit and eat something.”

“Nnh.”

“Yes, come on. Don’t want you wasting away. Sandwiches won’t keep you up to Selk’s standards.”

Arthur moans, but he rolls over and sits up. He’s wearing underwear and a t-shirt, somehow, and Merlin’s sat on the side of the bed, grinning.

“You’re very sweet when you’re sleepy. You told me I have lovely ears and that You’ve been waiting to kiss me all day. Sweet, but not a very good kisser.”

“Huh? I don’t remember that.”

“I let you nap for half an hour. Come on.”

Merlin passes over a small bowl of pasta. Arthur stares at it for a full minute before finding the energy to eat it. He eats slowly. 

“You need a break,” Merlin says. 

“Mm. No, just a long day. Soon it’ll be Sunday, and I have Sunday off. I do love that I put my weekends in my contract, and that I’m famous enough to do that. Well, anyway, next week will be less stunts and less intense. Then we’re moving, thank god! No more Romania!”

“Really? Where are we going?”

“Do you pay any attention to things? How you get me to the right place, I’ll never know.”

“Sorry. I skip a few things, sometimes. 

“One more week in Romania, then we’re moving to Canada. It’s an American financed film. If it was British we’d be going to Wales, so thank your lucky stars for that.”

“More ice and snow?”

“Nah. Wide open vistas. And a studio, and caves. Fun times all round, Merlin.”

“Eat your pasta, you goof.”

Arthur yawns and shoves it back to Merlin. 

“Sorry, too tired.”

“I wish you had more time off and less hours. You work too hard.”

Arthur snorts. 

“I work a hell of a lot less than some people in my profession. I’ve got horribly strict guidelines in my contracts. About weekends, and Sundays. It’s God’s day, Merlin. God’s day. Never, ever work on a Sunday if there’s any possible way to escape such a fate.”

Arthur lies back on his bed as he jabbers, rolling under the covers and pressing his face to the pillow. It smells faintly of Merlin, just. He hears Merlin sigh, the click of lights going out, and waits for the snick of the door. It doesn’t come. Instead, Merlin crawls in with him and snuggles in close, stroking his hair and shushing him. Arthur thinks about being sarcastic, but he actually kind of likes it. He has a thing about having his hair stroked, it’s comforting. So instead, he goes off to sleep. 

After that second night, Merlin makes it a habit to crawl into Arthur’s bed instead of his own. Arthur says he sleeps better, and the dark shadows under his eyes lighten, though they don’t vanish. Merlin also makes it habit because it’s really damned nice, to have someone to cuddle with. That’s what they do- very manly cuddling, that’s not really manly at all despite Arthur’s claims. Sunday finally comes and Arthur sleeps, drooling on Merlin, until nearly two pm, when Merlin’s phone rings loudly and wakes him. 

“Sorry, sorry! I had it turned on loud because- hi Gwen, you know it’s expensive to ring me?” Merlin says, pushing Arthur’s emerging head back into the nest of blankets in the hopes of derailing his ‘you woke me up’ rage. 

-I got this… card… thing… I dunno. The man in the shop said it meant I’m only paying… a very little amount to ring you. Anyway, whatever. I rang you, am ringing you rather, because you’ll never guess what Lance did.-

“No, I probably won’t. Is it really necessary that I know what Lance did?”

-It really is.-

“Merlin. Issit? Snphl hnphl,” Arthur says. 

“It’s Gwen. What the hell does snuffle huffle mean?”

-Snuffle huffle? What are you on about, Merlin?-

“hhnph.”

“Sorry, talking to Arthur. Or rather, the lump that is Arthur but has lost the ability to make words. Go back to sleep, prat.”

“S’it mrning?”

“Not even close, it’s gone two.”

“Shwr.”

“Shwar?”

-Shower, idiot.-

“Oh! Shower! Right!”

Arthur looks at him like he’s mad and staggers off. 

“He’s one to talk. I’m mad? Has he seen his hair? Also, he’s all creased.”

-Oh, they’re so lovely like that, aren’t they?-

“I thought Lance pissed you off?”

-Oh yeah. So I made cookies, and he ate them.-

“Oh no, call the police,” Merlin says, absently, a crash from the bathroom making him wonder if Arthur’s brained himself. 

Arthur sticks his head round the door to give him a thumbs up, snickering, so Merlin assumes it’s fine and he’s being paranoid and Arthur’s laughing and mocking him for being a worry wart. 

-the cookies weren’t for him. THE COOKIES WEREN’T FOR YOU!-

-are you seriously still mad about the cookies? Who are you complaining to now? Who’s even left?-

“Uh oh,” Merlin says. 

-YOU’RE, I’M, MERLIN! I’m comlaining to MERLIN! You total wank cruster!-

“Wank cruster? Wow.”

-hey Merlin! I ate the cookies!- Lance calls. 

Merlin laughs, unable to help himself. He loves Gwen and Lance’s arguments, they’re always so cute. 

“Gwen, it sounds like he’s utterly not contrite and you should punish him. All you have to do is make more cookies, as an apology for being mad and act all sorry and do that thing where you rub noses with him, and then feed them to him.”

-How does that help me, Merlin?-

“Oh, right. Put, like, chillies or something in them. Then, BOOM! All his tastebuds- gone. All that fancy French food he loves? Cardboard. Woot!”

-Good idea. I knew I loved you for a reason. You’re absolutely perfect, Merlin!-

“Shush, or he’ll catch on to the deception. Be all stompy and pouty tonight, then tomorrow morning do your rueful puppydog eyes over coffee, then bake while he’s at work and- boom. Plannage. Next stop, world domina-“

Merlin pauses, mid sentence, when Arthur comes barrelling out of the shower, completely naked and covered in suds, hair lathered up, eyes wide and crazy. 

“Hang on Gwen, a lunatic just… what on earth are you doing?”

“Spider. In the bathroom. Spider,” Arthur says, eyes wide. 

“Spider? What is wrong with you? It’s just a little spider.”

Merlin gets up and rolls his eyes, pointedly stepping into the bathroom and peering through the fog of steam. The extractor is pretty good so it’s not actually that foggy, it’s more for show. Merlin is about to go tell Arthur it’s gone and mock him mercilessly, when something the size of a football scuttles over his foot. He shrieks and jumps back, slamming the door. 

“Did you see it?” Arthur asks. 

“No, I just screamed like a girl for your entertainment. Of course I saw it!”

“It’s… it was… I was…”

Merlin turns his attention to Arthur and finds him still wide eyed, one hand pressed to his chest, hyperventilating. 

“Sorry Gwen, hang on. Arthur?”

“I hate… spiders… I hate…”

“Okay, okay. Right. Phobias, such fun, they just jump out at you. Or scuttle. Arthur? Right. Right.”

Merlin looks around for inspiration, then realises his phone is yelling at him. 

“What?”

-Is he having a panic attack? I can hear him breathing from England.-

“Seems like it.”

Merlin’s quite close to Arthur’s now, but he still doesn’t know what to do. 

-Merlin?- Lance says, -hi. Slow down, don’t you panic too. Is he a touchy person?-

“Yeah, yeah. Tactile.”

-Good. Just gently touch his arm or shoulder, remind him you’re there.-

Merlin does so and Arthur turns frightened eyes on him. It should be funny- his head is covered in little hair-horns, but it’s not. At all. 

-Talk to him. Reassure him. You’re good at talking! Don’t tell him to calm down, though. Sit him down, try and help him count his breaths. Be reassuring.-

“Right, right. I can do that. Thanks.”

-We’ll call you back later about the cookies.-

“Bye.”

-Bye.-

Merlin steers Arthur to the bed and makes him sit, talking firmly and gently, on and on. He explains that the spider’s locked in and Arthur seems to focus on him, so he starts counting breaths, doing it with Arthur, then just sitting, holding Arthur’s hand while he calms down. 

“Wow. Dramatic,” he observes, when Arthur’s gone from frantic to limp.

“Sorry. I really don’t like spiders.”

“Do you have panic attacks often?”

“No. I haven’t had one since I was seventeen. Or, well, I had one once, when someone on the crew of one of the films I was working on thought it would be funny to throw a bag of plastic spiders over my head.”

“Christ.”

“I was twenty, and not new to the game, but new to being seen as one of the adults. I went out drinking and no one monitored me or anything, because I was an adult, and I drank way, waay too much and ended up admitting a lot of things, one of which was my spider phobia. Next day, boom, as you say, bag of spiders.”

“Nice.”

“The guy was so apologetic, he was really lovely. I slept with him. We still correspond.”

“Pity sex. Smooth.”

“He was so hot, and he barely looked at me before that, but I knew how to play him.”

Merlin laughs, pulling Arthur into a half hug then immediately letting him go remembering the soap and shampoo.

“Not going back in there, Merlin.”

“No, no. Course not, wasn’t thinking it. Just dry off and put some clothes on. I don’t think Romania has spiders like that, do they?”

“Dunno. Don’t think so. Giant Spiders that attack one in the shower would have bleeped on my radar.”

“Right. So, therefore, someone put it in there. Anyone here that was there in the plastic bag fiasco?”

“No. Oh, Edwin. But he’s a mate, Merlin.”

“Is he?” Merlin asks, getting the skeevy, unvomfortable feeling Edwin always gives him. 

“Yeah. He’s known me ages, since I was a kid.”

“He fancies me.”

“Not like he knows about us, is… it. Oh. But he might, because that night I was so knackered I could barely move, he brought me up and tried very hard to get in and talk to you and I wasn’t particularly subtle, probably, because I was tired and he was… well, he still wouldn’t do the spider thing.”

“Okay. Well, whoever it was, I’m not dealing with it. I’ll call the front desk and say you’re affronted and are considering suing.”

“Just tell them there’s a giant spider in the bathroom, don’t be mean. Not in my name. I’m very careful not to be that kind of a diva. It’s hard, you know, coming into a place and being the most exciting thing here and taking over with all the crew and locations and being made to feel important by the fans. It’s hard to remember, sometimes, that people live and work here and aren’t just around for us. I try to remember and to treat them with respect, I think it’s important.”

“Wow, I was joking. You’re just very lovely sometimes, you know that?”

“It’s lack of oxygen.”

That’s more like Arthur. Merlin laughs and finds his own towel, hung on the back of a chair, and starts trying to get some of the soap and dampness off Arthur, laughing when his hair just goes even crazier. 

“I’ll tell you how we can get Edwin back,” Arthur says, getting hold of Merlin’s hips and drawing him so close they’re standing nose to nose. Merlin drops the towel. 

“Oh yeah? You were certain it wasn’t him, a few minutes ago.”

“I changed my mind.”

“How can we get him back?”

“Hmm,” Arthur says, kissing Merlin, “like this. I’ll go running out down to the lobby and make a fuss, about the spider, and when people ask why I’m doing it- which they will, because they know me- I’ll say that it’s not the spider, it’s you. That it got you in the shower.”

“And I’m dying a slow painful death?”

“That you screamed like a girl and was frightened and upset and need a day off tomorrow because it shook you so much.”

“So that I’m you, basically.”

“Mm. Then Edwin will feel all bad, and confess. Or he’ll rush up here to soothe you.”

Merlin kisses Arthur this time. In the end it’s almost an hour later that Arthur finds the wherewithal, after orgasms, to run down to the lobby and kick up enough fuss to get the rest of the actors and crew, or enough of them, out of their Sundays. Edwin, it turns out, is filming, so they have to wait for the effect. They have plenty to do to fill their wait time. 

It’s almost eight when the knock comes. Merlin grins at Arthur, who is lying on the bed and reading a cartoon aloud at the same time as eating cream out of a bowl. The cream was a sort of accident that turned out fun. Merlin sits up and gets up against the headboard. 

“It’ll be him,” Arthur says, grinning back and wrapping a blanket around Merlin. He dims the lights and leaves Merlin in a cocoon of warm light and blankets. 

“What?” Arthur says, throwing the door open an inch. 

There’s real skill in managing to throw a door open an inch, Merlin thinks. 

“Oh, Arthur. I was looking for Merlin, but he’s not in his room. Is he in here working?”

“He’s not working, he’s lying down. He’s not feeling very well, he’s had a really big shock and quite a horrible day.”

“So I heard. Can I come in and see him?”

Merlin smiles as Arthur blocks the door more thoroughly.

“No. You can’t. Like I said, we’re just taking it easy, napping, things like that. He needs peace and quiet and some rest, not visitors.”

“Wait. He’s actually ill? From the spider? Did it bite him?”

“No, but he has a phobia of them that’s quite severe and he had a bad panic attack that really exhausted him. He’s really quite ill, Edwin. I’m worried.”

Merlin stifles his laughter in the duvet. Arthur really is a very good actor. He’s playing the worried, protective boyfriend perfectly, dropping just the right hints and little bits of body language to suggest boyfriend much more than friend. 

“Oh. Um, I think I should just step in and have a word with him, Arthur. I need to…”

“Need to what? I dunno, Edwin. What do you need? Maybe I can take a message.”

“No. Or, can I really not see him?”

“we haven’t had a doctor or anything, Merlin insisted not. One of the medics came and had a check, though, and she said he really needs to rest, to get over the shock. Charlie, you remember?”

“Yeah, I know Charlie. Oh god, he’s really bad?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit. Just. Yeah, you can take a message. Tell him I’m sorry.”

“What for? It’s not your fault. It was a tarantula, you know.”

“Wait, I thought you are afraid of spiders? Didn’t you freak out all over that poor guy in Casa De Los Toros?” 

“That was an epically shit film.”

“Oh yeah.”

“No, no. I have a bit of a thing, you know, but I… well, I kind of fancied the bloke and I heard about what he was gonna do, and thought it would be funny and serve him right, and I could maybe use it as a sort of moment to draw him closer.”

“You’re such an arse!”

“Yeah, I know. Anyway, I should go back to Merlin. You want me to apologise for him? It really wasn’t your fault.”

“I kind… well, I kind of… it kind of is. I was aiming for you, you know, just a bit of fun. A prank, to liven things up.”

“Huh?”

“I put the spider in the shower, you great dummy! I didn’t mean to hurt him, though, I just… well, I thought I’d roust you a bit for getting the bloke I wanted. Nothing… no hard feelings, yeah?”

“Oh, there are many hard things. None of them yours. Goodnight, Edwin,” Arthur almost crows, slamming the door in Edwin’s face and collapsing against it, laughing. 

Merlin grins, letting go the duvet to let his own laughter go. Edwin starts banging on the door and swearing at them, which just makes it funnier, and Arthur bangs back once, then waltzes over to the bed and throws himself at Merlin. 

“That was,” Merlin says, kissing Arthur, “brilliant. 

Arthur kisses back, and there are no more words or laughter. 

Arthur wakes late on Monday, and tries to fling himself out of bed in his hurry. Merlin catches him and holds him still. 

“Ow. We’re telling Gaius about us, I want a double bed in Canada,” Merlin mutters. 

“We’re late.”

“No we’re not, word spread about the spider and Gaius has kindly pushed your scenes back till lunch time. He had worked it so Edwin could have a lie in after working Sunday, but… dunno. Something happened.”

Arthur grins. That’s good. That’s very good. Maybe Gaius doesn’t hate him entirely. He goes back to sleep. 

Merlin wakes him with breakfast and makes him eat it in bed, like he’s an invalid. He also gets in the shower with Arthur and washes him, humming, hands soothing over Arthur’s skin. He does it all in good time, so Arthur takes a quick nap before they have to head out. He arrives on set feeling rested and centred, which is nice after the knackering schedule last week. 

“Ah, Arthur. Great. We’re going to switch things around, so you’re actually going to be shooting with John and Mordred, over on the tower top,” Gaius says when Arthur gets over, already bustling him towards the steps. 

Arthur turns to locate Merlin, and Merlin’s already looking at him and nodding to let him know he knows what’s going on. Arthur smiles and heads up the steps, taking them at a jog. He arrives a bit breathless, and Mordred laughs at him, but the adrenaline boost is nice. 

“Morning, sneaky,” John says, fiddling with a light metre.

“Sneaky?” Arthur asks, leaning on the wall and looking out across the castle.

“Morning off,” John explains. 

“How’d you pull that one?” Mordred asks. 

“I’m just that important,” Arthur says, airily. 

“Alright, guys. We’re just going to shoot a scene for between the fighting and the river. Selk and Christ are going to ‘have a moment’, according to Gaius,” John explains, handing each of them slim scripts. 

“You know we have no idea about the plot and the timeline of this, right?” Arthur asks, skimming his lines. 

It’s only a handful, he should learn them pretty quickly. He tunes out whatever Mordred and John say in reply and focusses, going over them. 

“Alright?” John asks, ten minutes later.

“Yup,” Arthur says, handing back the script and finding his mark. 

“Great. We’re ready when you are,” John says, taking Mordred’s script. 

Mordred leans on the wall, facing Arthur, squinting at the sun.

“Mordred, can you open your eyes?” John asks, absently. 

“It’s sunny,” Mordred says, changing his eye line and squinting less.

“That’s fine. Okay.”

Arthur waits, watching the gate. 

“Action!”

When they finally get it right (fourth time lucky) John is much more complimentary and nice about it than Gaius ever is, clapping them on the shoulder and giving them both ‘good work’s. Arthur feels almost relaxed, which never happens with Gaius. Then again, Gaius gets the best footage and really knows how to get good performances. 

He’s about to walk down with Mordred, leaving John and the crew to pack up, when he feels… something. He looks around, trying to work out what it is, but there’s nothing there. 

“Arthur?” Mordred asks. 

“Huh? Right, yeah. Isolde. Sorry, what were you saying about her?”

“She said I was brilliant,” Mordred says, grinning.

“Right,” Arthur says, still distracted. 

Mordred rolls his eyes and disappears down the steps. Arthur follows more slowly, still trying to work out the heavy feeling, like a thunder storm, or when Morgana gets angry. He doesn’t realise he’s sped up until he bumps into Mordred. 

“Oi! What is with you, Arthur?” Mordred snaps, irritated.

“Sorry, sorry. Head in the clouds,” Arthur explains, shaking the feeling away. 

Gaius’s assistant meets them in the courtyard, hurrying them through to where Gaius is shooting Odin, jabbering on and on about some stunt or something. 

“Cut! That’s it, I like that one. Thanks guys. Arthur! We need to re-shoot some of the reaction shots with Odin on the ice,” Gaius says. 

“Oh,” Arthur says, sighing. He hates this part of stunts. 

“Yes, oh. Go, go! Costume!”

Arthur goes. He waves to Merlin when he passes him, but Merlin doesn’t notice- he’s too busy glowering at the Blackberry Mithian gave him. Arthur doesn’t have time to ask what’s wrong, though. He’s distracted, while running through the scene, thinking about Merlin and the heavy feeling is back. He ducks just a second too late and the staff Odin is wielding clumsily swipes the side of his head, knocking him back. 

He hears people yell his name, then some of the fans screaming and yelling. He spins, trying to work out what’s wrong, and his feet find air and then he’s falling. 

Arthur’s not sure what happens next. There’s a thud and a crack and next thing he knows he’s lying on the cold ground, pain shooting up his leg, radiating from his knee and ankle, and his head is throbbing. He decides not to move. Staying still is good. All the wind is knocked from him, so staying still is good. 

There’s some yelling and people saying his name, and Gaius is there somewhere, sounding worried. Arthur tries smiling to reassure everyone that he’s okay, but then there are more confused voices and someone he doesn’t know touching his shoulder. Then a familiar voice cuts through the crowd, and warmth suffuses Arthur. 

“Move. Move! What the fuck happened? I turn my back for five minutes and I find you lying on the floor. Arthur. Arthur?”

“Merlin,” Arthur says, trying not to sound as breathless as he feels. 

“Idiot,” Merlin says, affectionately, and then Merlin’s hands are on his shoulder, “what do you need?”

“Huh?”

“Not you. Okay. Arthur, does your back or neck hurt at all?” Merlin asks. 

Arthur assesses. His ankle and knee and head are worst, but he’s kind of aching other places, too. His arse and his shoulder and his side, but not his back. Not his neck.

“No. Don’t think so,” he says. 

“Good! That’s good. Not at all?”

“No.”

Arthur smiles at Merlin’s knee and squeezes it. 

“What?” Merlin asks. 

“You have nice knees.”

“Gee, thanks Arthur. That’s lovely. Did you hit your head?”

“Odin did. Whack with a stick.”

“Yeah. Okay. Where does it hurt, if not your back and neck?”

“Mm. Dunno. No, I do know. My knee and ankle and my head. Three things.”

“Right.”

Someone not-Merlin touches Arthur’s thigh and he giggles, but then there’s pressure and cold and then his costume’s no longer covering his legs, somehow. It’s cold. Then there’s something round his knee and it doesn’t stop hurting, but the little movements his body’s making without him stop jolting it. He sighs. They do the same with his ankle. 

“He’s a bit dopey,” Merlin says. 

“Who is?” Arthur asks. 

“Shh.”

Arthur sighs and closes his eyes, but then there are more hands and he’s on his back and it’s cold, all the stone against him. 

“I’m cold,” he tells Merlin. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Hang on.”

Arthur hangs on. Somewhere along the line he’s managed to get hold of Merlin’s hand, which is a good thing to hang on to. He wonders if his fans are using their spy lenses to take photos of him holding his assistant’s hand and what they’ll make of it. All those rapid Arthur/Gwaine shippers will be so disappointed. Arthur laughs, thinking about it.

“Great, now you’ve really gone mad. They’re going to put you on a stretcher in a sec, then you can have a blanket,” Merlin says, squeezing his hand.

“Are you coming?”

“Coming where? Where are you going?” Merlin asks. 

“Um… aren’t I.. hospital?” Arthur guesses. 

“Oh, right. Yes I’m coming. Morgana would never forgive me if I left you in the clutches of the dreadful doctors all alone.”

Arthur laughs, and then there’s a lot of confusion and some pain and then he’s lying on something a little bit softer and Merlin’s tucking a warm blanket round him. He sighs, content. He still has Merlin’s hand, which is good. 

“Try not to sleep, Arthur,” Merlin says, softly, free hand playing with Arthur’s hair. 

“Hmm. Stop petting me, then,” Arthur says, and to his disgust Merlin actually stops. 

“Hey, you told me to,” Merlin defends, half laughing. 

“No laughing.”

“Sorry. Hey, Arthur?”

“Yeah?”

“I felt it. When you fell. Is that weird? Like that swooping feeling when you wake up after dreaming of falling.”

“Huh.”

“I thought it was you, and I ran, and it was you.”

“It was me, I did fall. Shoom! My feet were gone.”

“Yeah.”

“Mm.”

Merlin tells him something about a bird, or maybe a horse, or a dog. Some kind of animal, and Arthur loses track of thing again. Then he’s being rushed away from Merlin, and that’s not good, and it’s more confusing and there are too many voices and hands and then someone says he can sleep, so he does. 

When he wakes up there’s darkness, and for a minute he has no idea where he is, but then he remembers the doctors and the hospital, and Merlin. He looks around, trying to work it out. 

“Are you awake?” Merlin asks. 

“Yeah. What happened?”

“You fell. It was really dramatic, Gaius has it on film. You got clipped round the ear with a staff, then you crashed down some steps. You hit your head quite hard, they’re keeping you in the hospital for it.”

“Oh.”

“You were really confused, and couldn’t seem to focus on anyone or anything. The doctor says you only have a mild concussion, but I said a mild one is perfectly concussed enough, in my opinion.”

“And today was such a good day.”

Merlin laughs, but he’s still far away. Or not close. Or rather, not in bed with Arthur holding his hand and stroking his hair and cooing, which would all be good. Or maybe not the cooing. Arthur pouts. 

“How is it that even when I can’t see you I know you’re pouting?” Merlin asks. 

“It’s your job. It’s also your job to come here.”

Merlin doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand, because he’s still not in bed with Arthur. Arthur pouts again, and the bed sinks, and finally Arthur can get hold of Merlin’s hand. He sighs happily.

“It’s very easy to please you,” Merlin says, stroking Arthur’s hair, just the way he should.

“You please me,” Arthur says, all but purring. 

“Are you in pain?”

“Nope.”

“Good. They gave you something, for your head. You sprained your ankle and thwacked your knee really hard. You have maids knee.”

“Maids’ knee?”

“You get it from kneeling loads, thus the name, or hitting your knee really hard. Basically it’s swollen and painful, but not actually very damaged.”

“This is bad.”

“No, it’s not bad. It’s okay.”

“Gaius will be mad. This’ll set shooting back, again. First the snow, then the spider, now this.”

“I wouldn’t worry. He was all worried and solicitous about it all. Apparently, it’s his fault for not being more attentive to you and pushing you. He’s all guilt ridden. We could probably have a whole week off, if we wanted it.”

“Did all the fans get lots of pictures of you holding my hand?”

“No. Percy went and told them you were hurt and would appreciate them not taking pictures, and the all put down their cameras on the ground to show they weren’t. Not a single snap has shown up on the sites, either, I checked. So they really didn’t take any.”

“I have the best fans.”

“There is a picture of the moment just after you got hit, or you stumbling around. It’s hilarious.”

“I got hurt!” Arthur says, indignant.

“Shh. I know you did. It’s still funny.”

Arthur closes his eyes. Merlin’s fingers against his scalp are so soothing, and he’s humming something, and he’s so warm and so close. Arthur sighs and drifts back to sleep. 

Merlin watches Arthur sleeping. The room is dim, to help Arthur’s headache, but Merlin can still see the shape of him. There’s bruising all over the side of his face, which Merlin can’t see but he knows it’s there. In fact there are bruises everywhere, even on Arthur’s hand. It had terrified Merlin, to feel the swoop and not been able to find Arthur, finally following the sounds of chaos and seeing him lying there, almost catatonic. 

The shock and confusion, the lack of air, it had been frightening even when Charlie told him it was just because he was winded. And then, when they’d taken Arthur away at the hospital, Arthur had started to cry, calling out for Merlin, as if he thought Merlin was gone forever. That had been frightening, too. But when Arthur woke he seemed more lucid and together, if a little high. 

Merlin watches Arthur breathing, the steady rise and fall of his chest. He’s half fallen asleep, half in a trance, when there’s a tentative knock on the door. Arthur, being rich and famous and important, has his own room with body guards outside, therefore the tentative knock is someone vetted by Leon, who is in over protective mode, so it’s not going to be anyone except someone from Arthur’s immediate circle of people. Merlin’s in here, Mithian is hardly a ‘knock tentatively’ person, so this must be Arthur’s sister. Who hadn’t really sounded like a ‘knock tentatively’ person either. Just as Merlin thinks this, the knocker throws open the door and stalks inside. 

“Did no one ever teach you it’s rude to ignore someone knocking at the door?” she asks. 

“No, actually. My Mum taught me not to answer to door if it was someone I didn’t know, not to listen to people trying to sell people at the door and never to let anyone into the house unless they were expected,” Merlin says, stuck in a sort of star struck daze by the gorgeous woman in the suit. 

“Ah. Good. Your mother was better than mine. Did Arthur ever tell you that she left me on the doorstep in a basket, like in a book or something?”

“No.”

“I’m Morgana, you’re Merlin. How’s my brother?”

“He sprained his ankle and-“

“I know all that. I asked how he was, not what the doctor said. The doctor wasn’t supposed to talk to anyone not family, by the way, Leon’s supposed to make sure that happens.”

“The doc kind of noticed that our marks matched and made assumptions about the depth of our relationship.”

“Correct assumptions? Never mind. How is he?”

“Um, not sure. He woke up for a bit, seemed more together, actually knew where he was and could focus, but he’s doped up and fell right back to sleep.”

“Good. He probably has about three weeks of sleep to catch up on. How many days off has Gaius given him?”

“As many as he needs. Arthur fell head first down some steps, it frightened- people.”

Merlin stops himself from saying ‘me’, because he was across the set talking to costume so he hadn’t actually seen it. Just felt it. Merlin touches his stomach, frowning, wondering again about that. 

“I see. People. Can I see?”

“See what?” Merlin asks, surprised and confused. 

“Your mark. Come on, it’s on your hip, isn’t it?”

“How did you know that?” 

Merlin shows her, though, and she peers at it, getting very close. 

“My god, it’s exact. Down to that ridiculous freckle.”

“It’s not ridiculous. My Mum always said it was cute,” Merlin says. 

“Sorry, I’m used to this belonging to my brother, teasing is my go to,” Morgana says, straightening. 

Before anything else can happen to make Merlin more confused, Arthur wakes up with a groan. They both turn to the bed.

“Huh? ‘S’dark,” Arthur says, peering at them both, blinking.

“You have a headache,” Merlin explains.

“You’re here? You’re here. Why are you here?” Arthur says. 

Merlin assumes he’s talking to Morgana so he keeps his mouth shut, stepping away. Before he can get far, Arthur snakes a hand out and grabs his wrist, pulling him onto the bed. Merlin stumbles and falls, hitting his elbow on the wall, but lands more or less on the bed and manages not to sit on Arthur. 

“Ow,” he says. 

“Why’re you here?” Arthur asks again. 

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“Because. Um, I don’t- I thought- what?” 

“You’re here, you’re here to stay here,” Arthur says, glaring. 

“Um… okay?”

“He wants you to coddle him. Hold his hand, or something,” Morgana says, sounding disgusted. 

“Stroke my hair, actually,” Arthur admits, smiling happily. 

“You’re still high,” Merlin says, realising, half amused. 

He strokes Arthur’s hair, though. He knows what he means- he’s noticed that Arthur’s a bit like a big cat and likes to be touched, likes his scalp rubbing, his hair stroked, like to lie in the sun and snooze. 

“You’re ridiculous. Don’t you want to know why I’m here?” Morgana says, sitting in Merlin’s vacated chair. 

Merlin tries again to get out of their way, but Arthur growls so he stays. 

“Don’t care why you’re here, harpy.”

“I liked the present.”

“Mith said. She called. Like a normal person. See, she’s not here, is she?”

“She is, actually. She’s in the canteen, eating her way through the jelly they have. We commandeered one of father’s planes and came when Leon called Morgause.”

“Why did he call that witch?” Arthur asks. 

“Because he was worried about your thick skull. Apparently you cracked it.”

“I didn’t. It didn’t break.”

“That is why I called it thick, Arthur,” Morgana says, firmly, as if she’s just won the argument. 

“I… but… I have a very thin head, actually!” Arthur says, then starts to giggle. 

“You’re totally baked,” Merlin says, getting up. 

“Back here!” Arthur demands. 

“Shut up you prat,” Merlin says, stretching. He goes round to the other side and sits against the headboard, getting more comfortable, so Arthur can talk to, or bicker with, his sister. Arthur nods in satisfaction and gets hold of Merlin’s hand. 

“I like it when you’re close, Merlin. It’s all warm inside of me.”

“Oh,” Merlin says, surprised. 

He’d thought it was only him who had felt it. After Arthur fell, a warm tingling sensation when he found him and got near enough. 

“You two are so clueless, aren’t you?” Morgana says, sounding amused, “you’re bonded now, no escape. I told you it was real, Arthur! I knew I was right, I was right!”

“Merlin’s just warm and fuzzy, Gonnie, don’t be silly.”

“I’m not warm and fuzzy,” Merlin protests, though he’s not sure why. 

“He’s a boy, not a kitten,” Morgana says, laughing. 

“I’m not a boy! I’m-“ Merlin cuts himself off, but then finishes the ridiculous statement, “um, I’m a man.”

“Of course you are, honey,” Morgana says, “Arthur, now that I’ve seen Leon was grossly exaggerating and you’re fine, I’m going to go rescue the kitchen staff from my jelly obsessed girlfriend and retrieve the crossword book we brought.”

Morgana stands and stalks out. 

“Isn’t she funny, Merlin? She thinks you’re a kitten. You’re not a kitten, are you?”

“No, Arthur. I’m a real boy,” Merlin says. 

“I thought as much. I thought so,” Arthur says, seriously. 

“Any pain?” Merlin asks, as Arthur flops over onto his back.

“Nope. Not yet. Niet. Ha! Russian ‘no’ is like a portmanteau of ‘not yet’, isn’t it?”

“Portmanteau is a big word for someone who can’t find their nose.”

“I can find my…”

Arthur goes cross eyed and pokes himself in the cheek. 

“Right,” Merlin says, finding Arthur’s nose for himself. 

“Mine. That’s mine, Merlin.”

“Yup. I thought I’d help out.”

“Morgana came here. Am I badly hurt?”

“Maybe they needed the vacation.”

“Am I dying?”

“No. You knocked your head, though, and were really confused and all scrambled up for a while. We weren’t sure what was going on. I think poor Leon was freaked out by how still you were when you fell. Your eyes were wide open, but you weren’t breathing much and you weren’t moving.”

“All my breath was gone, it was taken.”

“Mm.”

“Did you ever watch Torchwood? There was an episode where some circus people stole little kids’ breaths. Jack kissed Ianto in that one,” Arthur says the last with such satisfaction and smugness, as if he had been instrumental in the kiss.

“I didn’t see it, I wasn’t a huge sci fi fan.”

“Oh yeah, I remember. You forgot to watch Buffy, too.”

“I didn’t forget, I chose not.”

“No one chooses that. Oh look, Gonnie’s back.”

Merlin frowns and looks around, and a second later Morgana walks in the door with Mithian. 

“How did you do that?” Merlin asks. 

“Did he do his freaky ‘sensing’ thing? Don’t worry, he’s not magical. We went to a blood bonding ceremony when we were small, and there were a few other siblings there who were being bonded and Arthur accidentally joined us in,” Morgana says, as if that explains it. 

“I thought non Druids aren’t allowed?”

“Morgause got us in. She wanted to bond with me. She was so mad when she realised what Arthur had done, but then… well, you’ve met Arthur. The stupid sod has a way of endearing himself to people.”

“Edwin doesn’t like him,” Merlin says, stroking Arthur’s hair again and making him pur. 

“Edwin? Edwin Muirden? Yeah, he’s not a fantastic person,” Mithian says, “I haven’t put Arthur in a film with him since he was in his early twenties and got famous enough to turn down good scripts. Muirden is a bastard and belongs in prison. What’s a word for ‘of high rank’?”

Morgana and Mithian start in on the crosswords, but Merlin’s crap at them so he focusses on Arthur, who has rolled over to put his head in Merlin’s lap. He’s muttering to himself, dozing off, talking about spaceships and kittens and Darth Vader. Merlin waits for him to fall deeper asleep, then feels his own eyes drooping. 

“Feel free to lie down, Merlin. We’re going to leave soon, anyway,” Morgana says, startling him awake. 

“Wha’? No, no. It’s fine. Why are you here, really? I mean, I know it was freaky when he dove, but he’s not actually badly hurt. Sorry, I shouldn’t ask that, it’s rude, I-“

“No, it’s fine. He’s your boyfriend, or partner, or whatever you prefer. You should decide that, by the way, before you start telling the media. I was kind of worried about him, before he fell. He called me, about a week ago, and said that he was tired and fed up and… I dunno, he usually calls more often when he’s filming,” Morgana frowns, then smiles, bright and beautiful, “of course, now I can see why; he’s been busy with you.”

“Um…”

“I already knew that your marks matched, because Leon told Morgause. He should really learn not to tell her stuff, he’s so sweet. Anyway, so I knew that, but Arthur’s a stubborn man.”

“Oh, he gets to be a man, but I’m a boy? He thinks you think I’m a kitten, by the way,” Merlin says.

“I thought he might shoot himself in the foot, and maybe that was what was making him… but, no. I knew he’d get it, if he ever met his match.”

Morgana and Mithian leave soon after that, and Merlin curls up around Arthur, kicking off his shoes, and finally falls asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

“Okay, Arthur! Ready? Great, action!” Gaius yells. 

Merlin leans forward, elbows on his knees, watching carefully. Arthur only took three days off, despite his knee and ankle still being painful and a recommendation to stay off them. Apparently if he had any further days off the shoot would be prolonged and the world would automatically explode. 

“Cut! Arthur, that’s fine. Mordred, please try to remember that he’s not going anywhere, he’s not moving, he can’t bloody move. Stop walking round him in circles, and stop wandering out of shot, and stop moving! Just, be still. Can you do that?” Gaius says, frustrated, whether with Mordred or Arthur Merlin can’t tell. 

“Gaius? This is his first film. Give him a break,” Arthur says. 

Mordred, then. Merlin starts to get up, and Arthur’s eyes go straight to him. Merlin pauses, waiting, but Arthur shakes his head so he sits again. 

“He’s done acting before, Arthur. For fuck’s sake, fine! Take five, everyone, while Pendragon talks the newby into not pissing me off!” Gaius says, throwing his script at his assistant and storming off. 

Merlin bounces up and over to Arthur, giving him his crutches. 

“Thanks, Mr. Attentive. This isn’t a five second rule, you know? I won’t fall over if you don’t almost brain yourself rushing to my side,” Arthur says. 

“You’ve caught Gaius’s mood,” Merlin says. 

“Yes, well. He’s right. Mordred, what is wrong with you?” Arthur says, turning on Mordred. 

Mordred already looks like he might cry. Merlin considers taking his side or yelling at Arthur, but decides to just smile and shrug when Mordred glances at him. Mordred looks miserably at Arthur. 

“I don’t know what to do with my hands. I don’t want to knock you over or jog you or anything,” Mordred says. 

“I’m not made of glass. Besides, you’re supposed to be thinking about yourself, not me. Let me handle me, I’m more than capable. What do you mean, you don’t know what to do with your hands?”

“I mean… it’s… there’s no direction, here. Gaius just said to stand. It’s a really long time to just… stand,” Mordred says. 

“Right, but sometimes you just stand and chat with people, don’t you? In real life, you’re not always doing something?”

“No. But this isn’t real life.”

“I just mean that if you simply stand still, it won’t kill the scene. Remember that bit we did up on the parapet, with John?”

“Yeah, the day you fell.”

“That’s the badger! We weren’t doing anything then, were we? You did fine with that.”

“It was short and our conversation was more intense. This is just filler.”

“Yeah, because this is a crap script,” Arthur says, and Mordred laughs, “it doesn’t matter. Forget the words, you know them. Focus on just being Christ. He’s probably the kind of guy who stands still for hours. He hunts, right? He knows how to be still.”

“Yeah, yeah. He does.”

“And I, as Selk, absolutely hate being still. I’m not a still person. Christ just loves to piss Selk off, right?”

“Well, at some point. Are we there yet, in this scene?” Mordred asks. 

There’s a moment of consternation and they try to place the scene in the time line. Merlin clears his throat. 

“What, Merlin?” Arthur asks. 

“I know where the scene is. Shall I tell you?”

“No, just tell us if we’re playing it right.”

“You’re good,” Merlin says, smiling. 

“Right. So, you’re pissing me off by being still, and I don’t want to be still.”

“I’m the centre here, then, not you,” Mordred says, looking down at his script, “okay, yeah. That works. Can you do that?”

“Course I can. Oh look, here comes Gaius. Hold your breath, boys! Here comes the dragon!” Arthur says the last loud enough for the crew closest to hear, and one of the women on the camera starts laughing. 

“What’s the joke?” Gaius asks, “don’t tell me. If it’s Pendragon’s, it’s hardly going to be complimentary. Merlin, are you in this scene?” 

Merlin takes Arthur’s crutches and Arthur and Mordred’s scripts and rushes off set again, flopping into the chair to watch. 

“Scene eleven, B, take three.”

“Action!”

It goes much better this time. Merlin almost laughs at how restless Arthur seems, managing to seem as if he’s vibrating on the edge of running off, or hitting something, or going somewhere, anywhere, and yet Arthur doesn’t move away, manages to put very little weight on his bad leg. 

“Cut! That’s better. I like the way you’re playing it, Mordred. Arthur, do you need the bathroom?” Gaius says. 

“I thought it was quite good,” Morgana says, stalking over and rousting Merlin out of Arthur’s seat, draping herself in it instead. 

“He did kind of look like he needed a wee,” Merlin admits. 

“My knee hurts, Gaius, I’m not in the mood. What do you need from me?” Arthur snaps. 

“Uh oh,” Merlin says. 

“Idiot,” Morgana agrees. 

“Shall we pamper you, princess? You told me you could work, so we’re working,” Gaius snaps back, “What I need from you is what you’re giving me, its fine. Let’s just have a little less of the jiggling up and down? See if you can shift your weight, maybe move a step away.”

“I might limp,” Arthur says. 

“Doesn’t matter. Selk’s off balance, Christ’s pissing him off,” Gaius says. 

“Right,” Arthur says, settling. 

“Scene eleven, B, take four.”

“Action!”

Merlin watches, worried. If Arthur has to put weight on his leg… but it’s okay, it works. Arthur looks less like he has to pee and still keeps the urgency and restlessness. 

“Cut! Okay, I’ve got what I need. Can we move on, or do you need a break, Arthur?”

“Five minutes?”

“Take ten, everyone! Not you, I want you setting the next shot,” Gaius says, grabbing hold of the camera woman who laughed and taking his sweet revenge. 

Merlin jogs over to Arthur with his crutches, and Mordred comes back over with them. Morgana doesn’t get up, waving lazily. 

“Move, harpy,” Arthur says, poking her with a crutch. 

“You can have my chair,” Mordred says. 

Arthur sits in Mordred’s chair and shuts his eyes, letting his head fall back. 

“Headache?” Merlin asks, worried again. He moves from Arthur’s side to Morgana’s chair and digs out Arthur’s water bottle. 

“I’m fine, Merlin. Just… feel sick.”

“Nausea?” Merlin asks, pulling the baggy of pills from his own bag. 

“No, as in ill not as in pukey. Just give me a minute.”

Merlin passes over the water bottle and leave him. He can feel a thrum of something between them, so he doesn’t need to touch Arthur for reassurance. There’s warmth and a steady connection. 

“Morgana, let Mordred sit down,” Arthur says. 

“I’m actually going to take your break as an opportunity to call my girlfriend, so yours can keep my chair,” Mordred says, and walks away. Morgana and Arthur don’t react. 

“Um, guys? He thinks you’re dating,” Merlin says. 

“Are you jealous, Merlin? You know that I’d hardly steal him from you,” Morgana says, amused.

“Shut up, both of you. It happens all the time, Merlin,” Arthur says. 

Merlin, thinking that personally he’d discourage the idea that he was dating his sister if he had one, shrugs and tosses a clean t-shirt over Arthur’s face to shut out the sunlight. 

“I have work to do,” he says, “Are you willing to take over and general dogsbody and crutch holder?”

“Yes, I suppose,” Morgana says. 

Merlin hesitates, but leaves them to it. He doesn’t actually want to leave Arthur alone, he wants to hover and watch and be ready to catch him if anything goes wrong, but he has to get his stuff done if Arthur is to turn up to the right place tomorrow, and he has to check that no one is expecting Arthur to dance or anything. Four more days and they’re done. With Romania, anyway. Arthur promises that Canada will be a bit easier. For one thing, there are no open sets, so Merlin will be able to be more open. 

He squints at the crowds, surprised at how used to it he is now. Arthur hasn’t done any fan things for this week, because of his injury, but he’s got to do it this afternoon. According to him. Leon says it’s actually stubbornness and he doesn’t have to do anything. Merlin breaks into a jog- the faster he gets his work done, the faster he can get back to attending to Arthur. 

Arthur gets back to his trailer absolutely shattered. Gaius has let him go before four thirty, which is a first, but he’s still so tired. He’s clumsy with his crutches and nearly brains himself on the trailer steps, saved by Percy’s strong arm. 

“Do you never take a day off?” Arthur asks him. 

“I had yesterday off,” Percy says, “Leon is the mother hen.”

Arthur nods tiredly and turns to Merlin. 

“I knew you were here,” Arthur says, dumbly, smiling. 

“Right. This is totally freaky,” Merlin says. 

“A little. I always just think of it as a hyper awareness of someone. I like knowing where you are,” Arthur says, yawning and pulling off Selk’s heavy costume. 

“Need a hand?”

“No.”

There’s silence for a while as Arthur gets out of his costume and sits heavily on the sofa. 

“Sandwich,” Merlin says, passing him one, “then pills.”

Arthur eats slowly, thinking. 

“You know, Mordred reminded me of something, earlier,” he says. 

“Keep eating. What did he remind you of?”

“When we talked about the shoot up on the tower, the day I fell. When I was coming down, it felt like a storm was coming. Or like you were angry.”

“Did it? I suppose I was angry.”

“Okay.”

Arthur finishes his sandwich and then sits, eyes closed, trying to find some energy. He feels like something scraped off the pavement.

“Ready to take something for the pain?” Merlin asks, sitting beside him, body warm. 

“And clothes. I’m cold.”

“Here,” Merlin presses a water bottle into his hand, and a pill. 

Arthur takes whatever Merlin gives him and then Merlin’s manipulating him into clothes. Arthur flops against his chest when he’s in jogging bottoms and a warm jumper, moaning. 

“I’m so tired,” he says. 

“Yes, well. You’re meeting fans, so dig up some energy.”

“I ahte you.”

“You arranged it. Sit up so I can put socks on.”

“You’ve got socks on.”

“Come on. Quicker we get this done, the sooner I can get you into bed.”

“For sex? I like sex.”

“No, for sleep.”

“I’ll stay here, then. I’ll only do it, for sex.”

“Fine, then. Will you sit up and let me put your socks on, for sex?”

“Okay, then. For sex.”

Arthur sits up, then leans against the sofa back. He feels Merlin’s hands on his feet, warm and firm, pulling on socks then one shoe. It’s a weird sensation, having someone else tying his laces. 

“Ready?” Merlin asks. 

Arthur groans, but pulls himself back together, all the little pieces he let fly away because of Merlin, dragged back. He heaves himself up and leans into Merlin’s chest for a moment, kissing him, wondering if this bond thing will mean he can suck out Merlin’s energy for himself. 

“Do you think because of our marks I can suck all your energy out, like a vampire?” Arthur asks. 

“Please don’t try, that sounds cruel and painful,” Merlin replies. 

“Mm. And what if my trying somehow translates to kissing? Kissing seems the best way to suck out energy,” Arthur says, and tries. 

When he’s done, Merlin stumbles, hand going to the wall for support. 

“Oh, wow. That was a nice kiss,” he says. 

“I think it worked,” Arthur says, touching his lips, enjoying the buzz of adrenaline, “I feel better now. Kissing you has cured me.”

Merlin laughs and passes him his crutches, touching his ear and tugging gently in admonishment and affection. 

“Go be a whore for your fans, then we can go back to the hotel and you can try that again,” Merlin says. 

So Arthur goes. 

It’s tiring, talking. He limps along the line, trying to listen to their requests and questions and stories, smiling for the cameras, posing with people. 

“What?” He asks, “what? Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“I asked if you were going to be at Comic Con this year,” the girl says again. 

“No, no. I don’t think so. It clashes with something else.”

“Oh, right. That’s cool.”

“Hey, hey!” someone else yells, Arthur turns, trying to locate them, “you did an interview a while back where you stated you were suing the person who revealed your mark. Is that still happening? Isn’t it unfaithful to us, your fans, to vilify us like that?”

“Um, I was angry. I was looking into it, but I’m not anymore. It’s died down and people have stopped trying to tear my clothes off, so I’ve left it for now.”

“You still cover your mark up. Why? We’ve all seen it now. We all know how close a match you are to some of the fans you once called ‘nutty’.”

“Nutty? I did?” Arthur tries to remember, to think through the fog of tiredness, to work out how to deal with this woman, “I… I did, I remember. I was seventeen at the time, though. It was a while ago, really.”

“Are you saying it doesn’t matter what we do when we’re young? Have your views changed?”

“Have your opinions and ideas changed since you were seventeen?”

“That’s none of your business.”

Arthur decides not to point out the irony of that and moves on, clunking forward clumsily. 

“Hey! I wasn’t done talking, mate. I have another question.”

“Sorry,” Arthur says, “but I want to see as many people as I can, so you’ll have to save it for the moment. Why don’t you write it in a letter?”

“Hi,” says a very small girl. 

She then breaks into excited Romanian. Arthur’s picked up a bit, but he’s tired and his head hurts and she’s talking really, really fast. He looks for her mother. 

“She ask if you ever do more movie with the dog? Yes?” Says a man. 

“Is she your daughter? What’s her name?”

“She not mine. I just speak.”

“Um, I.. okay,” Arthur says, and bends as much as he can, “Lucky was a one time deal, but I am in the minority who actually enjoy working with animals, so you never know. Maybe one day I’ll make another film about dogs.”

The man translates and the small girl smiles widely and holds out a hand for him to shake. 

“Nice to meet you. Leon? Sorry, guys, I’ll come back tomorrow, but I need to go now. It was nice meeting you,” Arthur says, straightening and leaning on his crutches, waiting for his head to stop spinning. 

Maybe coming out to meet the fans wasn’t such a brilliant idea. He hasn’t been out for days, though, and he likes meeting them. He takes a deep breath and watches Leon chivvying people along gently. Leon’s the best at that, making people happy and easy. Arthur closes his eyes. 

He only shuts them for a moment, barely that, but in that moment someone manages to get around Percy and Leon, or they must, because neither Percy or Leon are careless enough to bump him like that, nor are they unkind enough to knock him off balance and drag at his clothes. He opens his eyes, finds himself falling, and cries out, cut off by a breathlessness. 

“Shit! Percy!” Leon yells. 

There are already strong arms around him, setting him on his feet, and Percy’s shouting and then there’s chaos. Arthur’s too tired to deal with it, he leans on his crutches and pants, trying to catch his breath. 

“Excuse me,” someone says. 

“I told you, you need to go. You all need to go!”

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry. All of us are. We don’t know her.”

“Okay, thank you, please move it along.”

“Come on, Arthur, step away.”

“Arthur?”

Arthur steps away, feeling miserably sick. He falters, stomach flipping. 

“Keep moving, Arthur. I don’t feel you’re safe yet.”

“I’m going to vomit, can I stop for that?” Arthur snaps, then leans forward to retch and heave up the sandwich and pain pill. 

“Lovely. Walk around that, please, I’m not cleaning up if you trial it into the hotel.”

Arthur wants Merlin. The world spins less, with Merlin. He doesn’t want Leon’s sarcasm and chivvying, gentle though it is. He thinks it’s probably Leon, thinks Leon probably wouldn’t let anyone else do this. Or maybe Percy. Maybe. Arthur manoeuvres around his puke. 

He doesn’t find Merlin, doesn’t feel him, until they get up to his floor at the hotel. He walks right through the door to his room, trusting it to open for him, and collapses on the bed. 

“You idiot. You needed more time to heal. Now look at the state you’re in?” Merlin snaps. 

Merlin’s hands are gentle, though, manipulating him so his knee and ankle are elevated and rubbing his stomach, soothing, settling it. Arthur feels tears leak out of his eyes and puts his arm over his face to cover them. 

“Shh. You’re fine, you’re fine. I won’t think less of you for those,” Merlin says, lying full length beside Arthur, body warm against his. 

“Just so tired.”

“I know. We’ll talk to Gaius about having a few more breaks and see about getting you more snacks and water, see if that helps, tomorrow. For now, rest for a few minutes until your stomach’s better than we’ll try the pills again.”

“Someone shoved me. It hurt.”

“Yeah, she was trying to get more photos of your mark.”

“I covered it, right?”

“Yeah, you did. The make-up’s a little smudge, but it was still covered.”

“I’ll put a plaster on tomorrow. Maybe I should call Ellie, see about pressing the case again. I hate this.”

“Yeah.”

“It’ll be worse, when they know about you. They’ll want every detail of our lives, every second recorded, they’ll want everything. I’m always careful about what I share, careful about what I put in public. I want some privacy. I know it comes with the job, but I hates paparazzi. I love my fans, most of them, because they support me, but I hate this aspect of it.”

“Shh, go to sleep. So do most of them. They were so angry at the woman who hurt you. Just get some rest, it’ll be okay.”

“Can’t believe I threw up.”

“You have a concussion, you shouldn’t really be working. It’s no wonder you feel like shit. Would you please close your eyes and stop talking?”

Arthur does as he’s told, and falls into a doze. Merlin lets him sleep for a bit, but then he makes him wake up again. 

“Mm. No. Hnn,” he says, pushing Merlin’s hands away. 

To his irritation Merlin just laughs. 

“Don’ laugh. Let me sleep.”

“Come on, eejit. Wakey wakey.”

“No. Hurts,” Arthur says, scrunching his face and moaning. 

“Stop acting and wake up.”

“Not. Hurts.”

“I know it hurts, but you’re acting. I know, I know, but you’ll feel better if you get some food in you and take a pill.”

Arthur humphs but wakes up more and lets Merlin help him sit up. Merlin’s strong and he’s very good at helping. Arthur leans into his chest and sighs. 

“Stop being so… floppy!” Merlin says, laughing. 

“’M tired.”

“Yeah, and floppy. Stop it.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“You’re a total nightmare like this, you know that, right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

Merlin lets him stay, warm and safe and close, for only a few moments, then pushes him away and Arthur has no choice but to sit up and rub the sleep out of his eyes. 

“When’s Morgana coming?” He asks, getting a pillow behind him so he prop himself up. 

“She’s not. I rang her to tell her you were dying of tiredness. She said she’d attend your funeral and laugh, then dance on your grave.”

Arthur smiles idly, accepting the bowl Merlin gives him. He peers into it, then makes a face. He’s not sure which one, but he definitely makes a face. It makes Merlin laugh. 

“It’s just rice and vegetables. It came with this really soupy, gross curry, but I gave that back. Did you want some?”

“No, no. but… there’s no meat! No bread! No apples!”

“What are you on about? Have you lost your mind?”

Merlin doesn’t sound too worried about the idea, so Arthur just shrugs and starts eating. 

“It’s boring,” he says, when he’s go half way through.

“I know. I thought it’d be easier on your stomach. Let’s not temp fate, hmm?”

Merlin comes over and sits with him, tapping away on his ipad. Arthur grumbles about him always working, but Merlin lets him lean into his side, so it’s not all bad. Arthur manages to eat all the rice before he starts dozing off again. Merlin’s fingers tangle in his hair and Arthur looks at the ipad over his shoulder, watching the pages scroll under Merlin’s finger.

“Stop being nosey and take your medication,” Merlin says.

“Where is it?”

“I have to do everything for you. You’re like a child.”

“Be nice, I’m not well.”

Merlin passes over a water bottle and pills and waits for Arthur to take them, then pulls his closer again. Arthur thinks he must have been feeling worse than he realised because Merlin being close makes the world iron out and he feels more steady and less like he’s drying of tiredness. Which he must have said to Merlin at some point. 

“Go to sleep, Arthur.”

“I am asleep.”

“Good.”

The lie becomes truth faster than Arthur will admit. 

Merlin wakes to someone curses. He blinks awake and looks around, confused, trying to work out who it is, and sees Arthur glaring at his ipad and poking it, 

“No. No, no no! You absolute idiot. You can’t have it. You can’t have either! Alrigtht, I guess you said it was not better, only really good. But you can’t have it! You stupid, ignorant-“

“Arthur?” Merlin says, voice croaking. 

This is pretty much the first time Arthur has ever woken up first, let alone actually got up. 

“What? Oh, you’re awake. Morning. Can you fucking believe this? He hasn’t even given a comments section for me to rant at him!”

“No, I can’t believe this. What are you doing?”

“This twat-munching idiot has said Brokeback Mountain the film is better than the book! Is he tripping? Honestly! His reasoning is faulty. At best. He said the film was better because the book is a short story and the film added more detail. The genius of a short story is the- seriously, is he tweaking? The book was genius. Was film was okay, but it put people to sleep. It was long! Also, there is no way… Jack’s death was devastating in the book and absolutely beautifully done.”

“Wow, way too early for that. I meant I can’t believe you’re awake! Has the alarm even gone off?”

“Yours? Yes. I turned it off. It’s about eight thirty. Can you believe this?”

“Yeah, I can. People like films. So what?”

“Merlin! So what? I bet this idiot didn’t even read the book. No one reads the books anymore. Reading the fucking book! Then you’d know that the monster isn’t called Frankenstein and you wouldn’t call your film I, Frankenstein and put all self respecting people off it. Block head.”

“Is this still about the gay cowboys?”

“They’re shepherds. And no, it’s about the collective mind fuck that made Frankenstein his monster. Literally. And yeah, the irony has a certain beauty to it, but the idiocy is still irritating. Did you do any research into your source material? I get when people just drop it in and get it wrong, like in that film about the cars and the guy gets called Frankenstein because he’s all monstrous and ugly, but to title a whole film and base it on a book you CLEARLY haven’t read is something else. I despair!”

“Clearly.”

“I so should have been in Brokeback Mountain.”

“Seriously, are you high?”

“Little bit. I woke up and couldn’t sleep, and my ankle hurt, so I found my pills and took them.”

“Took how many, exactly?”

“Three. It hurt.”

Merlin closes his eyes and begs for patience. 

“And you, being high, went on a one man campaign to right the internet’s stupidity?”

“The Frankenstein thing isn’t just the internet. The entire world is-“

“Okay. I’m confiscating the ipad and getting breakfast, before you hurt yourself with all this thinking.”

Merlin takes his ipad and goes to get breakfast, but when he gets back Arthur’s sat at the desk, tapping away at his laptop.

“Arthur,” Merlin starts. 

“Shh. According to Wikipedia I, Frankenstein explains that they give the monster the name because the monster calls himself Adam Frankenstein, so I’m apologising to all the people I caps locked at.”

“You’re worse than your fans.”

Arthur turns to glare at him, and notices the breakfast tray. His face clears and his eyes light up, and he scrambles out of the desk chair and clunks over on crutches, eating the strawberries out of the fruit salad. 

“Stop being a pig. Sit down to eat and let me sit down.”

Arthur does as he’s told, but he doesn’t stop going on and on about the misrepresentation of Frankenstein and how many films are made from books and on and on and on. By the time they get to set Merlin is more than happy to dump him on Gaius and run. 

Gaius, of course, lets Arthur have lunch. Merlin groans when he spots Arthur making his way over. Mordred gives him a weird look so Merlin opens his mouth to explain, but Mordred gives him a huge grin and shrugs it off, so Merlin leaves it and pushes a chair out for Arthur to fall into when he trips. The tray Arthur’s carrying hits the table with a thud and his crutches clatter to the floor. 

“Try carrying a tray while you’re on crutches,” Arthur says, by way of a greeting.

“No thanks,” Mordred says, cheerfully, “I’d have been more than happy to get you lunch, I got a break because of you.”

“I’m amazing,” Arthur says, taking a huge bite of his sandwich. 

“Are you done ranting at me?” Merlin asks. 

“Yup. That was fun. Are you really mad? You were so frustrated earlier that I felt it.”

“It’s still very weird that you can do that.”

“You can do it, too! I’m not the only freak.”

“You haven’t actually had a strong emotion since you hurt yourself. Even yesterday your confusion masked most things, and I felt nothing. Leon had to grab me.”

“I’m amazing,” Arthur repeats, smugly. 

Later, Merlin waits around set when he finishes up, in case Arthur needs him again. He waits in the trailer, doing the work he usually does at the hotel, curled up on the sofa. He’s about to put the ipad away and go to find Arthur when the door opens and Arthur crutches in, talking. 

“…but I don’t see how, oh, hi Merlin. I don’t see how Selk would even know that, because-“

“Have you even read the script?” Gaius asks, climbing in after Arthur and closing the door, “one end to the other? So you have an idea of the plot?”

“Mithian reads my scripts, I’m too lazy.”

“I don’t know why I always cast you, you’re a nightmare,” Gaius says, going over to put the kettle on and leaning against the counter. 

“Um, I feel like the apocalypse is about to happen,” Merlin says, “what on earth happened?”

Gaius and Arthur both turn on him, Arthur with a confused smile, Gaius with an amused eyebrow. 

“Well, you’re usually… sniping and bickering and disliking each other,” Merlin explains.

“Shut up, Merlin. You hire me because I’m brilliant,” Arthur says, “and amazing. We worked out that I’m amazing at lunch, didn’t we, Merlin?”

“You worked that out, not me.”

“Because you already knew it, I know. Aw, isn’t he a sop, Gaius?”

“I hire you because you’re famous and for some reason people like you,” Gaius says, ignoring the rest.

“And because my auditions are always amazing.”

“Yes, yes. Tea or coffee?”

“He can’t have caffeine,” Merlin says. 

“Oh you poor bugger,” Gaius says, making himself a cup of tea and holding up a mug to Merlin. 

“No thanks. No offence, Gaius, but what are you doing here?”

Gaius comes over and sits in a chair with a huff, sipping his tea. 

“I’m trying to explain to my actor his motivation.”

“You’re being a pain in the arse. I do read the scripts,” Arthur says, “and there’s definitely not a scene where Selk discovers that. Besides, even if he knew, that is definitely not something he’d do! I’m telling you, you’re wrong.”

“I’m not wrong, you just can’t see beyond your nose.”

“What’s the argument? Merlin asks, “something in a scene?”

They both turn to him again. 

“Gaius is trying to convince me that Selk would like Jazz. I’m telling you, it’s not his kind of music!”

Merlin rubs his face. This is turning out to be a very surreal day. Gaius and Arthur go on bickering until Gaius has finished his tea, then they sit in silence for a minute. 

“Merlin and I are going out, Gaius. He wants a double bed in Canada.”

“Fair enough.”

“Great! Are we done, here? I have to go eat so I can take my medication like a good boy.”

“Goodnight, then,” Gaius says, getting stiffly to his feet, “Merlin, you stopped coming to see me on set. You should start again.”

“You’re busy.”

“I’m not that busy. Tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“Goodnight.”

Merlin waits till Gaius is gone to turn on Arthur, but Arthur just shrugs. 

“I have no idea. Seriously! When we finished my scene, he started going on and on about jazz, and then he came here. He never has a break, and he’s not done for tonight.”

“Weird.”

“Truly. But, double bed in Canada!”

“And only two more days before the weekend.”

“I’m tired, let’s get this show on the road.”

The next two days go quickly. Arthur has short working days, so Merlin gets most of his work done from Arthur’s bed, while acting as a human pillow. By the time Saturday rolls around Arthur’s tired himself out and he spends the whole day in bed, using Merlin as a human pillow. On Sunday Merlin sets his alarm for six so he can start packing both their things. 

Arthur’s are fairly easy, as he’s barely unpacked. It’s just a matter of collecting the laundry Merlin made sure was done by this morning and packing Arthur’s bathroom. He leaves Arthur a set of clothes out and goes to do his own. That takes much longer. His stuff is strewn across not only his but Arthur’s room, and it takes him ages to find everything. Gwen made a list of every item he packed so he wouldn’t forget anything, which he is very grateful for. At about nine Arthur comes into Merlin’s room, looking sleepy but clean and dressed. 

“You ready?” He asks.

“Yeah. Mostly. Just got to… ah! Charger,” he says, wriggling out from under the bed. 

“Thanks for doing mine. Leon’s here, he’s waiting for us.”

Merlin grabs his bags and follows Arthur into the hallway, where Leon is leaning talking to Owen. When they spot Merlin and Arthur, Owen lifts Arthur’s suitcase and starts for the stairs. 

“Mordred’s catching a lift with us,” Leon says to Arthur, “and Odin is going to follow us, so we might attract some attention. Are you alright to deal with that, or should we come up with a strategy?”

“I’m good,” Arthur says, “but Merlin hasn’t done anything like it before.”

“Okay, I’ll talk him through it in the car.”

They shamble out into the morning and wait for the car to swing round. It’s one of the bigger ones, which means they all fit, and Merlin finds himself commandeered by Leon while Arthur dozes and Mordred taps away at a tablet. 

“You don’t have to do anything,” Leon starts, “what will happen is we’ll step out, and there’ll be a lot of cameras, and people will be shouting questions for Arthur, and Odin and Mordred. There will be security keeping them back but Owen and I will still be close just in case. Just don’t answer any questions, don’t say anything, and try not to attract attention.”

“Right,” Merlin says. 

It’s not preparation for what happens, not at all. There aren’t ‘a few people’, there are hundreds. The cameras flash at him and he can’t help but stumble. Mordred steadies him with a laugh. Merlin shoulders his bag and sticks close to Arthur, dazed by the noise and flashes and people. 

“Arthur!”

“Oh my god, oh my god! I love you!”

“Will you marry me, Arthur?”

“Tell us about the gay wizard, Odin!”

“What’s it like, suddenly being famous, Mordred?”

“Did you sleep with Mordred, Arthur?”

Merlin manages to hear a few questions, but most are thrown over one another. He trips along, and then Arthur stops and Merlin bumps into him. 

“Merlin. Ow,” Arthur complains, softly, before crutching over to a group of fans. 

Merlin waits, watching Arthur smile and sign things and then bend to talk to some kids, which explains why he chose that group. Leon moves closer, standing at Arthur’s shoulder, while he does that. Merlin still finds it jolting, the way Leon changes when he’s being professional. There’s no sign of affection and familiarity with Arthur, just a steady gaze and cold eyes, scanning everything. Arthur eventually pulls away from his fans and moves of, so Merlin follows. They reach the airport and Merlin is about to sigh in relief, but there are more people, more questions. 

“I’ll check in,” Owen says, pushing his way through the people. 

There’s no break until they get to VIP lounge, where they find more of the cast and crew and Arthur collapses into a chair with a sigh. 

“Alright?” Merlin asks. 

“I should ask you that,” Arthur says, sounding amused, “you didn’t really keep your cool back there, Merlin. You looked like a startled deer. Sit.”

Merlin sits and keeps quiet while Arthur tells everyone about how funny Merlin is and how he walked into Arthur and generally he behaves like an arse. Merlin ignores it, but it’s been a while since he saw Arthur’s more prattish side, so he’s not so adept at dealing as he used to be. He glares. 

“Leave him alone, Pendragon. Not all of us grew up with this,” Odin says, gravely, leaning forward, “he did just fine. Especially as your fans are rabid.”

“My fans are lovely.”

“You’re suing your fans.”

“I’m not, I dropped it. I should call Ellie, though. I mean, the first lady was crazy and all, but this one definitely had intent. She talked about the first time, so she knew, so Ellie could totally get her.”

“You are a total whack job, sometimes, Arthur,” Tristan says. 

“Are you coming to Canada?” Mordred asks Tristan, sounding excited. 

“Nope. We’re flying home, to see our son, and then Isolde is dong work on that Gorlois film.”

“Fuck! Really?” someone who Merlin doesn’t know says, “that’s a good gig. They’ve got a new guy on for direction, but she’s done some good small stuff. Who’ve they got writing?”

Arthur turns to Merlin, rolling his eyes. 

“Boring. Film talk,” he says, “did you bring sandwiches?”

“No. What’s the Gorlois film?”

“It’s brilliant. The studio’s making a film of the Faerie Queene, by Spenser. I think they’re going to play up the gory aspects. Did you know there’s this scene where Amoret is captured by this guy who takes her heart out and puts it, still beating, in a bowl in front of her, then uses the blood from it to write her love poems? And she’s alive through it all.”

“I did not know that, no.”

“And there’s this one guy who has his head screwed on the wrong way. Really super creepy. He’s ‘backwards looking’, so it’s like a physical manifestation of himself.”

“Right.”

Arthur beams at him, as if there’s nothing better. 

“No, I didn’t bring sandwiches,” Merlin says. 

They have to wait a while until their flight is called, and in that time some of the cast and crew trickle away, going to other destinations, and there are goodbyes and lots of laughter. Arthur joins in for a while, then subsides, leaning against Merlin, and dozes off. Merlin lets him rest until their flight is called. 

“Arthur?” He says, shaking him a bit. 

“Mm?

“Flight.”

Arthur sits ups and rubs his eyes, like a small child, then gets clumsily to his feet. He reaches for his crutches, but Leon appears, looking sheepish, and takes them.

“You’re going to kill me, but there’s really nothing I can do,” Leon says, “you’re not allowed these on the plane, we have to check them in.”

“No,” Arthur says. 

“Yup,” Leon says.

Arthur glares, but Leon stares him down and Owen appears with a wheelchair. Arthur glares harder. 

“You’re going to miss the flight,” Leon says. 

“You bastard,” Arthur says, but he sits on the chair and Leon vanishes with the crutches. 

Merlin stifles his laughter and follows Owen. They’re in first class again, but not many other people area. Odin, Gaius and Mordred, that’s it. Everyone else is in standard. Merlin reclines his seat and yawns, meaning to have a nap, but then Percy throws himself down next to them and starts talking. Arthur’s being grumpy, staring out of the window and ignoring everyone, so Merlin’s obliged to listen to Percy. 

Eventually Percy shuts up and Merlin falls asleep.


	11. A brief Canadian interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This came about because my Dad has a friend who got a concussion (playing tennis, of all things) and he said that it wasn't at all like in the films, he just felt really sick and ill for about a month after. And also, because- the evil duck! He he he! no warnings .

Merlin watches Arthur, munching on his crisps, half listening to Mordred go on and on about how damp the caves are. Arthur’s staring across the tent, hair still spiked up and crazy for Selk, eye made black by make-up. Every few minutes he twitches, face turning into a scowl, eyes burning, then he seems to control himself and his face blanks. It’s moderately entertaining to watch. Merlin fishes out another crisp. 

“…so wet and-“

“Stop fucking chewing!” Arthur snaps, head whipping in Merlin’s direction. 

Merlin laughs, head going back, delighted. 

“I wondered how long you’d hold out,” he says, then pointedly puts his crisp in his mouth and chews. 

“What, you’re doing this on purpose?” Arthur asks, glowering darkly.

“Nope. I’m really just eating crisps. Only, every time I bit into one, you’re face twitched. Also, you’re in a mood. But no, I’m not driving you crazy on purpose,” Merlin says, still amused by it. 

“And why, exactly, do you have to eat your crisps here and now?” Arthur asks, then blinks, “I just heard that.”

“Yeah, you sound ridiculous,” Merlin agrees, nodding. 

“Right. Christ, I bloody hate Canada!” Arthur says. 

“Why?” Merlin asks, not taking another crisp.

“Because of the damp, right?” Mordred asks, leaning forward.

“If you say one more thing about the fucking damp in the caves I’ll twist your head right off your shoulders and stick it on the fucking fence,” Arthur growls, turning on Mordred. 

Mordred’s eyes go very wide and he sits back, staying very still. Merlin tries to hide his amusement, but Arthur notices and glares half-heartedly at him. 

“I hate Canada because they all speak French,” he says. 

“And that’s worse than Romanian because…?”

“I hate French people.”

“They’re not French, they’re Canadian.”

“I hate Canadians, then.”

“Your argument won’t hold water. You hate Canada because they speak French, which you hate because you hate French people, and you take that out on the poor innocent Canadians because you hate Canadians, too?”

“Exactly. And I hate Gaius, and Mordred, and you.”

“Me? Little innocent me?”

“You make me get up horrendously early and ugh! My head fucking hurts!”

Merlin stops teasing, deciding that it’s gone on long enough. He knows why Arthur’s frustrated, knows why he’s been snappish and angry with everyone; he’s been feeling horrible, all off balance, nauseous and his head’s been hurting. Apparently it’s all normal for a mild concussion. It doesn’t help that this makes it hard to focus, and Arthur’s been messing up scenes and it’s all been slow going and the entire crew is frustrated too. At least there are no fans to deal with here, so Percy and Leon have lots of time off, meaning they’re both in good moods. Though Owen, who’s still around to cover for them, is not happy. He expected to have at least two weeks holiday after Romania, and they’ve been post poned. 

Merlin gets up, giving Mordred’s shoulder a squeeze, and goes to get his backpack from where he left it earlier, in Arthur’s trailer. Everything’s closer together here, so it only takes him a few minutes and when he gets back, Arthur and Mordred are still sat as he left them, Arthur glowering Mordred wide eyed. Merlin gives Arthur the blister pack of pain killers and sits beside him, offering himself as a human pillow if Arthur wants it. 

“Thank you, Merlin,” Arthur says, grudgingly. 

Ten minutes later the lines around his eyes lessen slightly. 

“Sorry Mordred,” Arthur says, “I won’t twist your head off. I promise to use something sharp so it’s quick.”

Mordred nods seriously, then laughs nervously, then smiles and finally relaxes. 

“It’s okay. Though, the caves are-“

“Yes, the caves are damp. Not only did we hear you the first hundred times, we’ve been forced to work down there ourselves! Shut up already!” This time it’s Merlin who snaps, and he immediately feels bad. 

He needn’t- Arthur and Mordred find it amusing. They imitate him all afternoon, trading ‘shut up already!’ back and forth and laughing. It eases the tension, so Merlin tries not to feel too irritated by it. It’s nice to see Arthur and Mordred getting along, and it satisfies Gaius so that’s good, too. Merlin slips down into the cave at about five, having finished up, and finds Arthur and Mordred staring intensely at a pool of water made by the art department. For a second Merlin thinks it’s for a scene. 

“Fuck that, Mordred,” Arthur says, disabusing Merlin of that idea. He joins them in staring out at the water. There’s a flash of red, out on the other side, against the cave wall. 

“What’s that?” Merlin asks.

“We’re trying to work it out,” Mordred says. 

“It’s a duck,” Arthur says, “an evil duck.”

The red lights blink on and move closer, and Arthur and Mordred both run away, yelling wildly, and then start laughing themselves silly. Merlin watches them, wondering if they’ve finally snapped. 

“Got that all on film,” someone says, and steps out of the darkness. 

It’s Gwaine Green, dressed more casually than usual in ratty jeans and a hoody, with a hand-held cam corder, grinning. 

“Give that back, Gwaine. Gaius gave it to me, not to you,” Arthur says, reaching for the camera, “What are you even doing here, filming us messing about?”

“Just making sure the fans have some backstage stuff to obsess over. They love shit like evil duck,” Gwaine says, “And I’m here because Morgana called me and stuck me on your ass.”

“Why? She went home. And anyway, it’s ot like you to fly to Canada.”

Arthur finally gets hold of the camera and snaps it shut, but he doesn’t delete anything. 

“I’m here anyway, fliming some shitty interview. She just commandeered half an hour of my time to come spy on you. Apparently her current spy is useless. I believe that’s you, Merlin,” Gwaine says. 

“Oh, yeah,” Merlin says, “Mithian always has lots of questions I can’t answer about medication and moods and sleep patterns and shit.”

“Right. Well, now she’s going to want me to be able to answer them, so we’re doing dinner, Arthur.”

“Oh no you’re not,” Gaius says, coming over, “Arthur is getting this scene done and then going to bed so he can get another one done tomorrow. We’re on the clock, people.”

“I have to eat, Gaius. It’s standard to let your actors eat,” Arthur says, “Merlin, entertain Gwaine until dinner?”

“Right. See you at the hotel,” Merlin says, and grabs Gwaine’s arm to steer him away, “I’ll make sure he sleeps, Gaius, and eats.”

Gaius grumbles something that sounds suspiciously lke ‘only crap directors let their actors eat’ and then stalks off, Mordred and Arthur following obediently in his wake. Merlin leads Gwaine in the other direction, back towards the trailers and the car park where Merlin’s parked his little rental. Arthur gets driven around the place in fancy cars, but Merlin has a nice enough little Ford so he doesn’t have to wait around. 

“Nice car,” Gwaine says, swinging himself into the front passanger seat. 

“Don’t you have…. Transport?” Merlin asks, getting in and starting the engine. 

“Yeah, no. I hitched out here, got a lift with a long haul driver. I do have like a chauffer and stuff, but I can’t be arsed with all that twattery. Not for Arthur.”

“Right.”

They sit in almost awkward silence, until Gwaine puts his feet on the dash and starts messing with the radio, humming along to snatches of songs then switching and humming again. Merlin leaves him to it. Arthur’s moodiness has given him a built in tolerance for all annoying behaviour.

“So,” Gwaine says, once they’re comfortable in Arthur and Merlin’s room, sprawled on the bed with a big bowl of popcorn between them, “when are you coming out?”

“Coming out?” Merlin asks, flicking through his playlist on Arthur’s ipod and settling on The Shins

“Yeah, telling the world about you, coming out as Arthur’s gay lover? And can I have an exclusive interview?”

Merlin pauses, then presses play and goes to set up the ipod in the speakers, buying himself time. It’s not that he hasn’t thought about it, about that. He has. But Arthur’s not been talking about it recently, and Merlin’s kind of glad. He isn’t sure he really wants the world to be all over his business, stalking him, sticking cameras in his face. 

“Merlin? I like the Shins and all, but it’s not quite the answer I was looking for.”

“It’s not really your business, is it?”

“Oh but it is. You might have thought I was kidding about, but I’m not. I’ve known Arthur a long time, and he never does things lightly. If he’s sharing a room with you, then he’s serious about this, and if he’s serious about it, I am. Morgana’s not the only one who cares about him, you know.”

“I know.”

“I’m not saying I think you need to do it now, and I’m not pushing or threatening you, I’m honestly wanting to talk to you about it, to see if you have any idea what you’re getting yourself in for. If you’re not sure, that’s fine, we can work with that. But if you come out of this knowing you don’t want to do it, then that’s good because it will only break his heart a little, rather than waiting until he’s really invested, when it’ll kill him.”

“Right,” Merlin says, “I won’t break his heart. I love him. I can’t believe I said it to you before I said it to him.”

“Ha! So, you’re just nervous about it?”

“I don’t want to give my life away, I don’t want to live like he does, always with the camera on me, never any privacy.”

“Arthur’s pretty good at protecting his privacy, you know. You’ve only seen him filming, when the media’s attention is here. There’s be a month or so doing publicity, then Arthur will take probably two months off, where he won’t be doing interviews or entertaining fans.”

“But they’ll always be there!”

“Yeah, someone might occasionally ask for an autograph. They’ll probably leave you mostly alone, as long as you put some stuff out there. Mithian will help you with that. Just a few pictures, let Arthur tweet about you sometimes, attend some red carpets with him, kiss him on film a few times. They won’t stalk you or set up camp outside your house. It will just mean giving a bit of yourself away.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s nerve wracking I know. We all know. None of us are born with this kind of media attention. Well, maybe Arthur, but he’s a bit of an exception to most rules. He’s awkward that way.”

“Why Arthur, and not Morgana?”

“Arthur was a bit of a golden boy at school, great at sports, top marks, going places. He probably would have had a lot of attention even if his Dad hadn’t been who he is. Arthur’s just… magnetic. Morgana was quieter, shier, and kept much more to the shadows. People were less interested in her. Until she started modelling, anyway. Then people suddenly noticed how gorgeous she is.”

“Right.”

“Morgana dealt with the attention by being a total bitch and making people know better than bother her. Arthur deals by putting up huge barriers and not letting anyone through, sometimes actual literal barriers like Leon. I deal by being charming.”

Gwaine grins, and it really is charming. Merlin finds himself smiling back automatically, which Gwaine finds amusing, which is charming. 

“Charming is a good adjective for you,” Merlin says.

“How you deal with it is up to you.”

“You seem sure that I am going to deal with it. I might walk away.”

“I thought so, too. But, nah. You’re as besotted as Arthur is. I don’t know if you realise it, but you’re unpacking his stuff.”

Merlin looks down and notices that, sure enough, he’s arranging Arthur’s shirts on hangers, absent mindedly, as he talks. He’s not very surprised.

“He never unpacks anything,” Merlin says. 

“That’s because he spends half his life in hotels doing this, and can’t be arsed when he’s just going to be moving in a few weeks. His stuff at home is unpacked.”

“You know a lot about him.”

“I’ve known him twenty odd years, I should hope I know a few things. Oh! Very important information, if you’re sticking around! He has wonderfully ticklish feet, and he loves custard doughnuts.”

Merlin nods, a bit thrown by Gwaine’s seeming random changes of tack, mood and subject.

“You should talk to Arthur about coming out,” Gwaine says. 

Merlin hangs up Arthur’s shirts and turns back to looking out of the window. 

“He doesn’t want to,” he says. 

“He’s probably afraid you’ll back out.”

“I can’t make him talk. It’ll happen. Let it alone. You’ve had your say, I’ve listened, the rest is my business.”

“I can see why he likes you, you are surprising. Good. Keep the brat on his toes. Now, can we watch shitty telly and eat popcorn?”

Merlin turns off the Shins and boots Arthur’s laptop, ignoring the silence that settles over them. They’re watching Stargate SG1 on Amazon, sprawled and relaxed, when Arthur gets in. Arthur just joins them on the bed, dozing off with his face buried in a pillow between them. Merlin wakes him, when Gwaine leaves, to make sure he eats but then lets him sleep. 

Arthur wakes to a fuzzy mouth and a pounding head and for a brief, wonderful moment he wonders what awesome and terrible stuff he got up to last night. Then he remembers that this is just what life feels like now, and groans.

“You’re awake. Morning,” Merlin says. 

Arthur smiles. Because that’s what life is like, too, now; Merlin sitting up in bed, checking emails and drinking coffee. Because Arthur always gets a nice start, because of his head, so Merlin gets up earlier than need be and that means that he’s there, warm and in pyjamas, and Arthur can fling an arm over his legs and burry his face in Merlin’s thigh. Which is all good. 

“You’re a total cuddle monster, Arthur, and you can never deny it again,” Merlin says, sounding amused, but he rubs Arthur’s head through his hair and that’s good, too, “do you want breakfast today?”

“No. Want to sleep forever.”

“’Fraid you can’t do that, buddy. Sorry. Gaius wants you in the studio at eleven, to film that stupid scene with Mordred where you do all that flinging yourselves about.”

“Already did that.”

“Yes, I know, but Gaius wants to re-shoot it, to get some reaction shots or something. I don’t know.”

“Isn’t it clever, that I knew what you were on about? Is Gwaine still here?”

“Um, think so? Not really sure. He was all vague last night. I think he was trying to be mysterious. He looked a bit constipated, to be honest.”

Arthur snickers, because he can totally picture the face Merlin means. He heaves himself out of bed and staggers to the bathroom next, before he falls back asleep. He’s tired, though, and kind of dizzy, so he ends up sprawled naked on the bed, while Merlin eats toast of whatever it is he’s doing. 

“Gwaine talked about coming out, last night,” Merlin says. 

“I’m already out. I told my Dad when I was sixteen or something, then the media kind of caught on when a paparazzi caught me in the loos of a gay bar, in a compromising position.”

“I meant me.”

“You haven’t told your Mum? That seems wrong. She seems lovely. She probably already knows, you know.”

“You’re a total dope, you know that? As in, tell the media about us, me and you.”

“…oh.”

Arthur sits up and finishes drying himself off, then looks around for clothes, avoiding Merlin’s eyes. 

“That’s it? Oh?”

“Have you seen my underwear?”

“It’s in the top draw, where underwear belongs, and in the laundry basket.”

Arthur makes for the laundry basket, to find the cotton boxers that are lovely and soft, but Merlin makes a disapproving sound so Arthur changes tack and makes for the chest of draws. He rummages through the various boxers and briefs that are there and finally decides that Merlin’s over-sized boxers with the snitches on them, the ones he wears for good luck, are the way to go.

“Are you seriously wearing my underwear? As a distraction from something you don’t want to talk about?”

“I don’t mind talking. I like talking. Sound of my own voice and all that, talking’s good.”

Arthur pulls open other draws, looking for something to go over the underwear. He finds a pair of shorts (his), a pair of socks (probably Merlin’s), a t-shirt (definitely Merlin’s, it’s a little small), and a hoody (his). He turns back to the bed, and finds Merlin sat, watching him, looking amused and exhasperated. 

“Do you just throw on whatever you find first?” Merlin asks. 

“Uh, yeah. Not like there are cameras, or anything.”

“I have great sympathy, now, for Mithian. I thought she was exhaggerating when she said she had to do all your clothes shopping, but… you look homeless.”

“Way to be mean to homeless pe- people. I heard it, leave it, please. I have a headache,” Arthur says, sitting on the bed, too, and looking up at Merlin with big eyes. 

Merlin tuts but laughs, reaching out to ruffle Arthur’s hair, then he shakes his head, but he’s smiling now.

“You’re hopeless. I told Gwaine that I’d do it, the media, the rigmarole, all that crap. Not right now. Maybe when you’re done doing publicity for this picture, you can come home and meet my Mum, or we can hole up in your giant mansion, and then when we’re sure we want to do this, when you’re sure of me as well, we can tweet a picture or something. Start small, you know.”

“You’re employed until the publicity is done. Which is… whenever. You know.”

“I do, luckily.”

“I know; hopeless.”

“And homeless.”

“Hopeless and homeless.”

Arthur tries to dig some dirt out from under his finger nail, with his other nail, then rubs his hair, then looks at Merlin.

“Don’t have to do it, you know,” he says, “all that.”

“What?” Merlin asks. 

“That… stuff.”

Merlin’s face softens, and he reaches out, cupping Arthur’s face and forcing him to meet Merlin’s eyes. They’re very blue, and look so deep, like oceans or really tall glasses of water.

“Did you ever read the Princess Diaries?” Arthur asks. 

“…What?” Merlin says, half laughing, confused. 

He keeps hold of Arthur’s face, so they’re very close, and it’s very intense. 

“Michael writes a song for… Mia. It’s called ‘a Tall drink of water’. Or a tall glass of water. I dunno.”

“…right.”

“You’re eyes,” Arthur tries to explain, but Merlin’s not getting it. 

“Shh. Shut up, you idiot. I don’t know what you’re on about, tell me later,” Merlin says, shaking Arthur’s head gently, then he stops and presses their foreheads together, eyes still on Arthur’s, holding him there, “I’m sure of you, Arthur. Already. I don’t believe in love at first sight, but somehow, I believe in you, and in us. So I’m sure, here and now, that this is it for me. But I want to give us both that month of space. I want to have time to get to know all about you, and I want to spend hours and hours, languid days, in bed with you.”

“That sounds good,” Arthur admits, and closes his eyes. 

“Is your head hurting already?” Merlin says. 

“Always.”

Merlin sighs, then guides Arthur to lie down, hand soothing in his hair. 

“Have a nap. I’ll wake you in about half an hour to go to set.”

“Kay,” Arthur says, already doing off.


	12. Mark, mark II

Merlin watches, with a huge grin on his face that he can’t control, as Arthur finishes his last ever scene for the film. When Gaius cuts and says he’s happy, the crew start up a cheer. Mordred jumps on Arthur and may cry, and then there are other people saying goodbye and a kind of mini-party right there in the studio. 

“This is mad. I still have to do some pick ups, they’ll all see me for publicity and- is Mordred crying, again?” Arthur says, appearing at Merlin’s side about twenty minutes later. 

“Yup,” Merlin says, knicking the stick of pinapple chunks off Arthur’s plate, “he is.”

“His first big film. Christ. I don’t really remember much about mine, feels like I’ve been doing this forever. He’s really good, you know? He’s the kind of actor who you expect to see in really good films, not just blockbusters.”

“You are, too.”

“Oh, I’m plenty good, but I am far too happy to sell out. I like lots of money, and this kind of film is so much fun. Usually. This one’s been a bit of a drag. You’ll have to come on set, some time, when I’m working with Gerraint. His films are awesome.”

“He sounds mad.”

“He is. Unless you want to keep on being my PA? You’re pretty good at it.”

“No, thanks all the same. Thanks for all the fish, but I’d prefer that you weren’t my boss.”

“So long and thanks for all the fish. Mankind thinks it’s the most intelligent life form because it invented the wheel, New York city, and something else. The dolphins think they’re most intelligent because they didn’t. What about you, Merlin? Dolphin, or human?”

“Dolphin, for sure. Didn’t you ever notice my flippers?”

“The fans are gonna love you. Totally and utterly. You’re adorkable. Now, let’s get drunk,” Arthur says, then grins far too wide to be sane, “Sean! Oi! Over here, mate! Get this on camera, you’ll want it some day!”

Someone comes over with a camera on their shoulder, and Arthur turns back to Merlin, and then Arthur’s kissing him and Merlin’s not really able to think about anything beyond Arthur and lips. He drops the stick of pineapple and reaches up to hold Arthur’s head in place, and kisses back. There are wolf whistles and cheers. 

“Would you stop it? Some of these idiots still have work to do, and you’re getting them all over excited,” Gaius snaps, stalking over. 

Merlin gives him a sheepish smile.

“Sorry, Gaius,” Arthur says.

“Oh, it’s alright. I’m glad you snapped him up, Arthur, he’s a good one. Keep him. Now, you are due to do pick ups, do you know when?”

“Merlin does,” Arthur says. 

“I do,” Merlin agrees.

“Good. Then you may go and get horrendously drunk and celebrate your release. We will go back to work. I assume you will let us know when we can include that ridiculous kiss of yours in the blooper reel? Scratch that, the whole world will know, and I don’t live under a rock. Arthur, I hate to admit this, but you are nothing like your father.”

Arthur beams, and when he holds out his hand for Gaius to shake, Gaius tugs him in for a very brief hug, which makes Arthur beam harder, if possible. He leads Merlin out of the studio stage by the hand, only letting go when Leon coughs meaningfully. 

“I’ll see you at the hotel,” Arthur says. 

“Not at a bar somewhere?”

“I want to sleep for a week. And have a lot of sex. And sleep some more.”

“I’ll see you at the hotel, then,” Merlin says. 

They do have a lot of sex, and they do sleep a lot. It’s fabulous.

**

“And my guest for tonight is Arthur Pendragon, ladies and gentlemen! Again. Sorry, I need to fire someone so I get more variety of guests.”

“Shut up, Gwaine. Hello, everyone!”

“Wow, they never do get tired of you, do they, princess? Now, no need to push me off my chair tonight, I got a new sofa. That’s it, sit there…. Yes! Good. Now-“

“This is comfy. Who picked it? Not you, you have awful taste in furniture. Was it Jenny? It was Jenny. Thanks, Jenny, it’s great!”

“Christ, shut up.”

“I’m Selk, actually. Mordred is Christ.”

“That leads… more or less to my first question.”

“If you ask me to summarise it, I will leave. Or, I will tickle you. Here. On camera.”

“Okay! I won’t ask! I already gave a summary, you’re good. No tickling. Tell us about Selk.”

“Right. Well, he’s a loner, and intense, and kind of a giant douche, actually. I did a bit of the loner thing, gave method acting a go, but that didn’t last long. Although, towards the end, I was keeping to myself. I managed to trip down some stairs and knock myself out- yeah, yeah? You saw that? Fantastic. Fans share everything, GWaine."

“They do. Including their fantasies about you and I-“

“So anyway! I gave myself a concussion so I spent a lot of time looking for cool, dark places. Or asleep. So I did a bit of the method thing. Selk’s motivation for pretty much everything is ‘well, it seemed like a good idea at the time’, which really appeals to me. Oh, yeah, you’re laughing. I suppose you saw that old photo of me and the lobster. That was a definite case of seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Is this the lobster that you bought, the giant one? When drunk? That you tried to ride?”

“It is.”

“In the sea?”

“In a puddle. Shut it.”

“Okay! Next question. Any on set romances? I know that you don’t get one this film.”

“Nope. Mordred got a bit of a brief thing with a woman he couldn’t even see, but not me. I did get to snog Helen Singer on my last picture, though. And trust me, without the aging make up that you’re all used to seeing her in after her last picture, she is smoking.”

“Arthur, mate, you’re gay.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a good snog.”

“We will… leave that and move on. Okay, so tell us more about working with Mordred, who is our new favourite, right guys? See, they cheer like that for other people, too.”

**

@Pen_the_dragon: did you see @therealarthur’s latest trailer? OMG that Mordred whatsit is hot, right?

@Pen_Love: link to behind the scenes photos from Romania, incl @therealarthur’s hot PA eating an icecream www.livejournal.com/294664

@sweet-prince: @Pen_Love I no rght? PA is smoking.

**

“Hey, Gwen?” Merlin says, pushing back from the computer. 

“Yes, love? I can’t believe you’re only here for a week and are spending it on Twitter. Come eat ice cream!”

“Never again.”

“What?”

“Did you know that I’m trending on twitter? As hash tag ‘Arthur’s hot PA’? Because of a single photograph of me eating ice cream.”

“Serves you right for eating ice cream in freezing cold Romania, come watch this and don’t be a twat. I want to see you!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.”

**

@leesh_twelve: did anyone get his mark? #Arthur’s hot PA

@Pendragonrools: @leesh_twelve, think that’s a bad thing to want, remember A is suing that fan frm Rom #privacy is a thing

@leesh_twelve: @pendragonrools u r a tool, fuck you

@Pen_love:@leesh_twelve, that’s not cool. I agree with @prandragonrools: #privacy is a thing

**

“Evening Standard! Come on, guys, grab a paper, all free, all good stuff.”

“What’s in it?”

“Pendragon heir, again. Apparently he’s started a twitter storm on the privacy around marks, whether they come under the rules of property, something like that. Nice picture of him wearing very little.”

“Give me two. Pictures of Arthur Pendragon wearing very little are ALWAYS good.”

“Ta. Here ya go. Evening Standard! Free paper! Free paper!”

**

“Are you ready, Merlin?” Arthur asks, fiddling with Merlin’s tie. 

“Pretty sure you’re more nervous than me. I just have to get out and take your hand, right? Nothing more?”

“Yeah. I tweeted about my mystery boyfriend from set a few nights ago, and last night I promised to bring you to the opening, and I’ve had mostly good responses. There are a few who are hoping you’re Gwaine, but not many. Some of them have already worked out that you’re my hot PA, mostly people who were there when I fell. One of them shared a photo of you cradling my head.”

“Great.”

“They were very respectful about it. They put it up with a new hash tag, that has started to trend. Hash tag ‘it might not be Gwaine’.”

Merlin laughs, and straightens his own bow tie, then straightens Arthur’s. Leon knocks on the door, and it’s time. 

**

“I’m here on the red carpet, and the excitement is high right now because the stars have started to arrive. I just did a quick interview with Mordred Cerdan, which you’ll be able to find on our website as soon as the mice get on that. The real buzz here tonight comes from the mystery boyfriend of Arthur Pendragon, and the question on everyone’s lips is ‘are they a match’? Was the revelation of Pendragon’s mark, being called a gross violation, fan service, accidental and harmless by various camps, a blessing in disguise? This is him, I think… yes, here they are!.... is that… oh my, it’s a fairy tale. It’s hot PA, from twitter! Also known as Merlin Emrys, Arthur’s Personal Assistant. Here they come! Arthur, can I have a quick word?”

“Of course. I believe that the man you really want to talk to is Merlin, though.”

“You know us too well, Arthur. If you have no objections, Merlin, I have a few questions?”

“Um, no, no, go ahead. I should warn you, though, that I’ve never done this. I might not be very good. Arthur might step in.”

“No problem. You’ve kind of stolen half the population’s fantasy, Merlin; to meet a famous start and have them fall for you. What does it feel like.”

“I’m… not sure. I like Arthur, I guess. It’s good?”

“Oh Merlin, that’s not flattering. What he means is that it is like a dream come true. He’s been wanking over me for years-“

“I have not! I had seen one, _one_ , of your films before I applied for the job.”

“Why did you apply?”

“It was a good job and paid well. I’ve been doing a little bit of everything since uni and thought I’d give it a go.”

“And you met Arthur.”

“I… did. Yes.”

“He’s confused because there was no question. Merlin, the question is ‘and wasn’t that just wonderful and the best thing ever?’. The answer is yes, yes it was.”

“The answer is that you’re a prat.”

“The honeymoon is over, Gemma. It’s sad.”

“Oh, you’re terrible Arthur. I swear you terrorise everyone, just because it makes you laugh. I have a last question, this time for both of you. And it’s the one everyone wants an answer to. Are you a match?”

“That is something you’ll have to guess at, we’re not telling.”

“And there it is, ladies and gentlemen. The ever enigmatic Arthur PEndragon leaves us frustrated and begging for more, again. Thank you, Arthur, and you, Merlin. You did wonderfully.”

“Thanks.”

**


	13. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last Chapter! This is the end. Or is it the beginning?

"Good morning, and welcome to the breakfast show. Back with us is Merlin Emrys, representing Arthur Pendragon who is at home battling man-flu."

"Hi. He is, it's pathetic. He's all snotty and gross and schlepping around in his rattiest joggers, which he's had for far too long. I keep trying to throw them out, but they somehow end up back in the wardrobe."

"For those of you not up on the gossip, Merlin and Arthur recently bought a house in the UK together."

"Arthur technically bought it, I just signed shit. Oops, sorry!"

"Good morning all you under twelves on your way to school, have some obscenities with your breakfast."

"Oops."

"Don't worry. Now, before the break you promised me something."

"I did, and I stand by that. Arthur agrees, too, or I think that was 'hurgle gurgle' meant. I carefully asked him this morning. I feel that I should mention that while we're teasing him about man flu, he really would be here if he could be. He's got a fever and stuff, and last night he puked everything he'd eaten, for about a year I think. So he's not just skiving, he really did want to do this for you guys."

"See, fans? He loves us all really."

"Not the wording I used, but close enough. Okay, the promise! So, as far as any of you know, I met Arthur when I was doing odd jobs, looking for my true calling. However, that might be a little bit of a white lie."

"No!"

"I'm afraid so. The truth of the matter is that this all started when there was that media frenzy about his mark. I was innocently sat at my laptop, eating my breakfast, when I got flooded with messages, on Facebook, Twitter, email. Everyone I knew who'd seen my mark was after me with this photo. Yes, that is me admitting that Arthur and I are a match and yes, that is me admitting that I got the job for stalking purposes."

"Now, that is quite the revelation, but there has been speculation along those lines before."

"Yes, astute Arthur-fans did put the puzzle pieces together. I'm just corroborating."

"Okay, let's move along and see what you can tell us about his latest project."

**

 

"Merlin!"

Merlin stops whistling and turns, surprised by the ferocity of that. Arthur glowers, hand tightening on the 'oh shit' handle of the car. 

"What, what?" Merlin asks, "I'm driving just fine."

"Not your driving, that bloody song! It's bad enough when she sings it, I don't need to whistling it!"

"Aw, you love it when she sings it."

"She's a total crazy cakes!"

"She's nice. She made us cake, and she's shipped us from the beginning. Plus, have to read her RPF fanfics? They're so fluffy! And her porny bits are tasteful."

"Merlin, you shouldn't read that crap."

"Some of it's good, actually. And I like that song, it's so perfect."

"No, it's not. No, don't- don't start-"

"Hey, I just met you, and this is craaaaazy, but you're my soulmate, so call me maybe!"

"Oh god, I hate you."

"You love me. You do, you love me! I know it. And the whole world knows it, too!"

"I still can't believe you read... what was it you called it?"

"RPF. It's awesome. They always give me such a big-"

"Don't!"

"Have you seen the fanart? I especially like the ones where Gwaine is involved, all mixed up in there somewhere. They're great fun."

"I hate you. I hate him. I hate the whole world."

Merlin laughs as Arthur sinks down in his seat, pulling his coat over his head. Merlin reaches over to pat his knee and gives it a squeeze.

"Don't touch me with your dirty hands. Who knows where they've been, searching the internet for filth as they do," Arthur says.

"Oh shut it, you're just nervous that my mother's seen it."

Arthur sits upright with a jolt, pulling the coat down, and stares at Merlin in horror.

"I am now! Oh my god, oh my god."

"Stop hyperventilation, it's gonna be fine. You've met her before."

"Yeah, but I haven't met your weird, random straggly family before. You keep telling me how crazy they all are! I'm terrified of them."

"Oh give over. They're okay. Look, it's not every day that one's aunt gets married for the sixth time and demands everyone attend the engagement party. You didn't have to come with, but I do have to go. I haven't seen my Mum in ages."

Arthur grumbles, but relaxes a little. Merlin pulls onto the motorway and there's silence for a while, the only sound the wipers battling the rain that starts pelting down. 

"I do like your Mum," Arthur says, sometime later.

"I know you do, you ring her and scheme together."

"I can tell her about my flu."

"Man flu."

"It was real! I was coughing and sweating and puking and-"

"I was there, I remember it in vivid detail."

"So you know it was real?"

"I admitted as such, on national radio."

"You did," Arthur says, sounding smug and pleased. 

"Three months, and no one's tried to pull down my trousers to verify my story," Merlin says. 

"I'll sue them, if they do. I got that lady in Romania, and that was just my shirt."

"You changed the face of privacy laws. Very good."

Arthur starts humming, absently, and Merlin tries to keep a straight face, hoping to hold it. He manages twenty minutes, then Arthur starts putting the words in, under his breath, tapping on his knee. Merlin can't help himself; he bursts out laughing. 

"Oh, bloody- I'm singing it now! I hate you, Merlin, I hate you!"

Arthur's still professing his hate when they arrive, but he slips his hand into Merlin's and stays close for the first half hour, before he realises that Merlin's family really aren't going to eat him alive, then he turns on the charm and starts shmoozing. 

"He's such a nice boy," Merlin's Mum says, coming to stand with him. 

"I wouldn't say that. I bet he's teaching those kids something awful."

Merlin turns out to be right. Ten minutes after his prediction, a sword fight breaks out in the middle of the dance floor with stalks of celery, and Arthur's right in the middle. 

"This is called Flynning, because Erol Flyn did it. It's not actual sword fighting, but it looks damned cool!" Arthur says, as he clashes 'swords' with one of Merlin's cousins. 

It's kind of enjoyable, watching Arthur fight off the kids, turning and stepping and jumping gracefully, inspiring the kids to copy him. They're almost dancing, up and down the room. Then Arthur leaps on a chair. 

"Avast, my hearties! Be you making me walk the plank?" He calls.

The sticks of celery are immediately all aimed at him, and Arthur falls off with a cry, landing on the floor with a thump. There's a moment of uncertainty where the kdis move forwards, wondering if they've hurt him, and Arthur lies very still. Jacob bravely steps forward to poke him with the celery, and Arthur rolls and leaps up, getting two kids. Then they're all off again, shrieking with laughter, setting a merry chase through the well dressed guests. 

"I take it back," Hunith says, "he's a horror. Those kids are never going to calm down, now."

Merlin laughs and shrugs; he did warn her. Arthur comes up, almost an hour later, panting and pink in the face and flings himself down on the ground next to Merlin. 

"Having fun?" Merlin asks. 

"God, yes. These people are batshit insane and absolutely splendid! You're family is way better than mine, Merls," Arthur says, sitting up against the wall and grinning, pushing his sweat damp hair out of his face.

"Joe won't thank you for winding his kids up like that," Matthew says. 

Arthur looks at him for a moment, then at Merlin.

"Right, this is Matthew, my cousin, and were having a nice, quiet, sedate, grown up conversation before you flung yourself at me."

"Hey, Matthew. Matt?"

"Matt's fine."

"Which one's Joe?"

"The one with the crutches."

"Ah! Good man, that. Yes, he didn't thank me. He did, though, find me cake. Apparently the more I eat the less his kids eat, so I helped him out with that. I think he was a bit surprised at how much I managed to eat."

"My god, you're just... chaos," Merlin says.

"I am. Now, Merlin, my love, my dove, my pumpkin, will you dance with me?"

"Matt, kill me now," Merlin says, but he lets Arthur pull him to his feet and drag him onto the dance floor. 

They dance together for a bit, then Merlin's aunt Helen cuts in and Arthur waltzes her away, laughing, spinning, so Merlin dances with her teenage son, Deagel. He ends up in a group of young men, all thrashing and head banging around, and then Arthur returns and pulls Merlin against him, leading him in what Merlin's pretty sure is a foxtrot. Arthur's a good dancer and he makes it easy for Merlin to follow, but it's still a very odd feeling and Merlin trips over his and Arthur's feet multiple times. Eventually Arthur gets tired and tucks his hand back into Merlin's, letting Merlin lead him to a table.

"Phew, that was fun but my feet hurt," Arthur says, slumping in the chair, smiling. 

He keeps hold of Merlin's hand, playing with his fingers. 

"You dance well," Merlin says.

"Mm. Had to learn, for various things. Ballroom I just did so I could add it to me resume, you know? Like stage fighting."

"You did it off your own back?"

"Yup. Oh, hello, Hunith. Are you enjoying yourself?"

Merlin looks up as his mother sits. She looks flushed, as if she's been blushing, and she's smiling almost as widely as Arthur.

"I am! Helen's ex is here, and we've been reminiscing. I went to school with him, did you know?"

"I didn't," Merlin says. 

"Yes. He's so charming," his mother says. 

"Mother."

"Yes, Merlin?"

"Is he hot?" Arthur says, leaning forwards, "how did you meet? Did he ever kiss you under the stars? Did he woo you, and settle on Helen as second best when you callously turned him down?"

"Oh, Arthur! You're incorrigible!" Merlin's Mum says, but she denies nothing. 

"I've always wondered, you know, if corrigable is a word, and if not how come there's a negative of it? It's strange. Isn't it strange?" Merlin babbles, distinctly uncomfortable.

"Merlin, I know it's hard, but you're father left a long time ago. Let you're mother have some fun! Let her be wooed and romanced!" Arthur says, grinning widely. 

"Hey, Mum?"

"Yes, Merlin?"

"Have you ever heard of fanart?"

"Merlin!"

"Merlin, stop. I know what it is, I've seen it."

They both stare at her in horror. Merlin hadn't actually thought she'd seen any.

"You've... you've seen it?" Merlin asks.

"Oh yes, all those tables and flowers and things, in the microsoft words. Did they put one of you in, Arthur?"

"That's... that's clipart, Mum. And yes, yes, that's what I meant. Arthur's in there. It's like a secret code, though."

"These computers, they're all a secret code to me. Now, are you boys staying with me tonight or driving back to London?"

"London. Arthur's got a rehersal tomorrow."

"Yes! You're going to be on the stage, aren't you?"

"That I am. Mordred roped me into it, told the director I'd be perfect. Apparently Mithian thinks I should do more artsy stuff. She thinks I have more money than is good for me."

"I like Mithian, she's got her head screwed on right," Merlin's Mum says, "Well, things are winding up here and I'm sure you want an early night. You'll have to drive down and stay soon, though. I'll make pancakes."

"Offer him pancakes and he'll do anything for you," Arthur says, getting to his feet. 

"Shut up," Merlin says. 

He kisses his mother, then hugs her, then hugs her again and then Arthur's knitting their fingers together again and dragging him round to say their goodbyes. Arthur drives, this time, yawning and flicking on the radio to keep himself awake. 

"I'm glad we could do this, get out and do things without your possy," Merlin says. 

"Leon's team is hardly a possy. I know it's annoying, but bigger groups of people-"

"Yeah, I know. I just like seeing you, like that. You're much more open, less guarded. It's nice. You were great with keeping the kids entertained, whatever Matt said."

"That was so much fun!"

"Where did you even find that much celery?"

"In the kitchen. Hannah and I did some reconnoitring, then Liam and Shannon went in and nicked it."

"Sounds like fun."

"Mm, it was."

Arthur yawns again. It's well past evening and getting dark by the time they arrive in the city. Arthur drives them to the flat they're renting, while he's working here, and then turns off the car, sitting for a bit, just smiling. 

"Are you coming in?" Merlin asks, when he's got his things together and popped open the door and Arthur's still sitting, staring into the night.

"What? Oh, right. Inside. Yes, I am. I was just thinking, just thinking. I'm very glad I met you, Merlin. That song, the one going round and round my head. You are my soulmate, and not just because of the stupid marks or the very disturbing link, I'm kind of used to that because of Morgana and the blood bond. I just... you make me so incredibly happy. You said you liked me, like that- unguarded. You make it easy. You make me feel safe."

"Wow, that's... soppy as hell, but very sweet. I love you too, you freak. Now come inside so I can sex you in the shower, I have a craving for shower sex, after that declaration."

Arthur smiles wider and jumps out of the car, running towards the house in his enthusiasm. He waits in the doorway and catches Merlin as he arrives, pushing him against the door for a kiss. They tumble into the flat, tugging at one another's clothes, pushing, kissing, biting. 

"I've wanted..." Arthur says, shoving the front door shut behind them, "you all day, Merls."

Merlin leads them towards the bathroom, tugging Arthur, lips clashing, teeth bumping, hands roaming. It's hot and fast and dirty, but when they're done the lines of Arthur's body are all lax, all his muscles quiet. He's almost glowing. 

 

Arthur wakes, and he knows it's late. It was late when they got home, it must be late. He rolls over, looking for Merlin's heat, burying his face in Merlin's side. Merlin grunts and wraps an arm around Arthur's head, then settles again, not waking. Arthur lies for a bit, content in Merlin's hold, but he doesn't fall back asleep. He's wide awake. He extracts himself and pads over to the chest of draws, pulling open the sock draw. He feels along the top of the draw above, the draw where Merlin keeps who knows what, and un-tapes the box, pulling it out. He looks at the ring inside and runs a finger over the bright gold of the band, familiar, warm to the touch, before sticking it back on and getting back in bed.

"Mmph?" Merlin asks.

"Toilet," Arthur whispers.

"Kay?"

"I'm fine, go to sleep you dolt. Just needed a piss."

"mmph."

Merlin flops about, arranging himself to he's got hold of Arthur again, then his breathing evens. Arthur links their fingers, running his thumb over Merlin's where the ring will sit. He wonders if Merlin's noticed his preoccupation with their fingers, lately.

_fin_


End file.
